


An Enkindled Herald

by Tximista



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Character Development, Epic Battles, F/F, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, HopePunk, Magic, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Mystery, Queer Themes, Sisters, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Thieves Guild, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tximista/pseuds/Tximista
Summary: She is of fire and fear.Kathleen’s world is falling apart in flames. Thrown into a hurricane of events she was never prepared for, along with the sisters she never knew she had, she’ll have to reforge herself a warrior for the battles ahead.She is of wits and shadows.Misty lives in the sidelines. Hers is the realm of cutthroats, crooks and robbers, one where greed and envy meet pride. When their sights are set on the greatest prize of all, both she and her partner have to exert unique skills to succeed.She is of ice and rage.Loss can take many forms and lead many paths. Thalia’s grief leads to revenge. No sea too deep, no land too far and no cost too high, nothing will protect them from her anger.





	1. Burning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. I have SO MUCH planned for this story, and I am committed to see it through the end. Updates will come (hopefully) at the rate of ~~one~~ two chapters (1500-4000 words) a month.  
>  Yes, it's pretty slow, but I want to do this right.

“Crap!”

The dice hit the edge of the table, bounced, and fell on the floor where it rolled into a corner, behind a rack holding two rusty halberds.

The guard jumped to his feet and walked to pick it up. He blew on the object to clear the dust, and observed the two little dots on the top. Not enough.

“Six,” he announced loudly before returning to the table.

The man seated opposite to him raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“Well, isn’t that convenient.”

The third man rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Have something to say, Luke?” the first asked in a stern voice.

“Yeah. Roll the dice again.”

“Already rolled. It's a six.”

“We didn't see it.”

“Calling me a cheat?”

The door opened suddenly, cutting the impending argument short. Luke stood up and turned around.

“Hey, you can't just barge in…”

He broke off his sentence at the sight of the newcomer. An imposing shape barely fitting in the door frame, muscular shoulders and arms, short blond hair shaved on the side, piercing grey eyes, the stranger was effortlessly towering over the three guards.

“Apologies, sir, but you’re not allowed to-”

“Ma’am,” the tall intruder corrected, ignoring the injunction and walking in.

“You… what?”

“Apologies, _ma’am_.”

Struck speechless for the second time, Luke blinked a few times and tried to regain a semblance of composure.

“You’re a… I mean... Ma’am, this is the guardpost, you cannot be here!”

“Quite the opposite,” the massive woman replied in a calm voice with a hint of a Northern accent. “My presence here is required.”

She pulled a sealed scroll from her leather tabard.

“I’m here on Temple business. Where is your commanding officer?”

“That would be me,” the first man answered, slowly lifting himself from his seat. “Sergeant Hunstaff.”

He broke the wax seal and skipped through the document.

“You're with the Temple? The message just came in this morning. Didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Let’s get the formalities over with, sergeant. I’d like her out as soon as possible.”

“Right. Of course. My office is this way,” he added, pointing at the hallway.

They walked in silence, the sound of their steps echoing on the bare stone walls. Hunstaff pushed a door open, entered a small room, lit a candle and sat behind a desk covered in papers and wax stains.

“I must have it somewhere… She’s one of yours?”

“I can’t say for sure yet.”

“I barely heard of your order before. I'm not one to listen to rumors, and I don't mean to pry, but… What kind of cult are you? Really?”

The tall priestess shrugged off the question.

“I'm not here to give you a lecture on religion, officer.”

The sergeant nodded and went back to his pile of papers, muttering about these priests’ secrecy.

“Here.” He handed her a sheet of paper she quickly studied.

“Kathleen-Aria. Is that her real name? Is she nobility or something? Why isn't there a family name?”

“You didn't know?” the guard asked, surprised. “Well, your guess is as good as mine. We found her in the lower city, she didn't give us much information. And there was… I have seen stuff before, but that… That's new.”

“We get that a lot,” she nodded, reading the paper. “And she just turned seventeen. Sounds about right.”

She grabbed a pencil and signed.

“We’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you.” He seemed relieved.

“Where is she?”

He grabbed a set of keys from his belt. “The dungeons are just underneath.”

The priestess froze.

“The dungeons?” Her voice flared with anger.. “You put her in a _cell_?”

She snatched the keys from the man’s hand and stormed out of the room, ignoring his protests. She reached the lower level without slowing her pace, startling a drowsy fourth guard sprawled on a chair, and stopped in front of a cell. Dancing lights and crackling noises emanated from behind the bars.

“Well,” she said after a pause, as the out of breath sergeant caught up with her. “That's certainly impressive.”

On the floor of the tiny room sat a young girl, who was staring at the wall. Long strands of blood red hair fell on each side of her face, contrasting with the paleness of her skin, and one could notice her lips shaking faintly.

All of these details were overlooked, however, at the sight of the burning flames engulfing her arms from hands to shoulders. The sleeves of her washed-up blue dress had been burnt off, and the wooden bench showed a few black handprints. Surprisingly, barely any heat could be felt from the outside of the cell. The girl didn't show any pain, but seemed terribly distressed.

She jumped to her feet at the sight of the newcomers, her fire flaring up in a fiery blaze. Flames filled the blue of her eyes as she stepped back in fear.

“See now?” the sergeant said. “We had to--”

“She’s been like that all along?”

He nodded. “Every waking moment. “She started… burning like that just yesterday morning. In the middle of the market, can you imagine?”

“Waking?” She turned a furious eye to the officer. “You knocked her out, didn't you?”

“No ma’am!” Hunstaff protested. “She had fainted by the time we got there.”

“And thanks to you, woke up in here. I swear…”

She left it there and returned her attention to the frightened girl.

“Emotional,” she whispered to herself. “Classic.”

She unlocked the door and stepped into the cell.

“Kathleen,” she softly called. “Can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” a shivering voice answered.

“I'm with the Temple of Æmeryl. My name is Liv.” She moved forward, prompting the redhead to step back again.

“Stay away!” she cried. You'll get burned!”

Liv paid no attention and walked within arm’s reach.

“Kathleen, I know what's happening to you. We can help. Allow me.”

The girl raised her blazing hands.

“What’s happening to me? Have I been cursed?”

Liv chuckled slightly and said, “No. This is not a curse. Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

The girl let her hands down and made a visible effort to inhale slowly. The flames on her arms withdrew to a lesser intensity, leaving her hands completely up to her wrists, and her irises gradually turned back to their original blue.

“See?” Liv smiled. “The fire reacts to your fear. It’s protecting you. Don't be afraid. Think calmly.”

She gently grabbed her by the hand and helped her sit on the bench, then waved the guards away.

“You're safe, I promise. We'll be leaving in a moment.”

Kathleen raised up her head looking relieved.

“I can leave? Really?”

“You can leave with me,” the priestess corrected. “We are taking responsibility for you.”

“‘We’? Responsibility? For what? What does it mean?”

Liv stopped her. “Kathleen, you’ve burst into flames in the middle of an open market. We can't know for sure it won't happen again.You cannot go back.”

Kathleen looked at the ground, downhearted.

“No, I suppose I can't…”

“We’ll take care of you. We can send a message to your family, but you need to stay with us for now.”

Kathleen shook her head.

“I don't… I had… I only have a few friends now. And… They can't read.”

Liv looked at her with curiosity. “No family? You didn't tell the guard if you… Are you an orphan?”

She shook her head again.“I can't talk about it.”

“Alright, keep your secrets. We’ll send a messenger to talk to your friends.”

Kathleen nodded in agreement.

“What about this?” she asked, raising her burning forearms again. Most of the fire had died off during their conversation, but her skin still crackled with embers. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. “Can you cure me?”

“This will take a long and complex explanation, and we don't have the time right now. Just this once, you'll have to trust me. If you can stay calm, the fire will vanish and we’ll be going. We’ll probably need a hood, though…” she added, passing her hand through the long strands of red hair.

Kathleen grabbed a lock and pulled it before her face, wide-eyed.

“I hadn’t seen that!”

Liv smiled.

“I wouldn't worry too much about that if I were you, love. Red looks good on you.”

Kathleen laughed nervously.

“I might burn everything I touch, I can't show myself anywhere, but hey, at least you think I look pretty.”

“That's the spirit!” Liv said. She grabbed the girl’s other hand and turned to look her in the eye. “I promise you, good looks are not the only silver lining here. Do you trust me?”

Kathleen exhaled slowly and gave a firm nod, while the last flames on her shoulders disappeared in a handful of sparks. Liv stood up.

“Are you ready to leave?”

 

* * *

 

“You haven't told me where we're going.”

They had been hustling through the crowded street. At first afraid, Kathleen had been relieved to see the hooded grey cloak she was wearing attracted the eye less so than the imposing appearance of her companion.

“To the temple.”

“Right… Isn't the religious district south of here, though?”

“I think it is, yes.”

“So why are we heading east?”

“Our temple is outside the city walls.”

“Outside? Why? How do you-”

“For now, let’s just say we're not your typical ‘give us your riches and be blessed’ clerical cult.”

“For a priestess, you don't seem to hold your peers in very high regard,” Kathleen remarked, surprised by such blatant disrespect.

“The role of a priestess is very different in our order than in most. Don't be fooled : nine priests out of ten are deceivers preying on the weak.”

“These people aren't weak!” she protested. “They’re working hard every day!”

“They have never received any education, or been taught to keep a critical mind, which makes them weak, easy targets for the sharks of this world. Doesn't mean they are any less valuable, or deserving, as people.”

Kathleen pondered upon this for a few minutes.

“What about the one?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The tenth priest. The one who’s not after the gold?”

Liv smiled warmly.

“Them, I have the utmost respect for.”

They walked past the city gates as a dozen farmers went in, and turned toward the stables.

“Can you ride?” Liv asked, as she handed a few coins to the stable boy.

“I used to, but it's been some time. And I'm not exactly dressed for it…” She waved broadly at her cloak and old dress.

“You can ride sidesaddle in front of me,” Liv decided. She walked into the stables and reappeared a few minutes later, guiding a hardy grey mare by the bridle.

“How far are we going?” Kathleen enquired, with a note of worry in her voice.

“We should get there before the night.” She looked at the autumn sky. There were at least a few hours left before sunset.

“Is something wrong?” Liv asked.

“I’ve never been that far from Hykulla before,” the girl confessed.

Liv passed a strong and comforting arm around her shoulders.

“I promise you’ll come back.”

 

* * *

 

“We’ve arrived.”

Kathleen slowly emerged from the semi-sleep she had been in for most of the ride. The dusty road they had been travelling was surrounded by an old woodland. She blinked several times and rubbed her eyes before contemplating the building in front of them. While not as colossal as the Great Temple of the Hundred Souls in Hykulla, the edifice was fairly impressive. Entirely built of travertine stone, the crude walls and simple columns lacked the heavy sculptures and rich embellishments of traditional religious architecture. The sun was low on the horizon, basking the stones and nearby trees in a warm golden light. The temple seemed ancient as the mountains, yet as solid as the rocks it was built upon. A single inscription carved on the arch over the giant blackwood door spelled something in a language she did not recognise.

“Is that your temple?”

“The Temple of the Goddess Æmeryl, yes. The only one we know of, at least.”

Kathleen lowered herself to the ground and walked to the stone steps.

“Who is she? Why have I never heard of her?”

“We’re keeping a certain level of secrecy. Of course, it can't be helped that some rumors and elements of legends slipped over the centuries.”

Liv dismounted and pulled her mare through a small meadow flanking the stone walls, towards a wooden stable. Kathleen followed her and watched her loosen the saddle.

“Who’s Anya?” Liv asked.

The girl froze.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“You talk in your sleep.”

Kathleen stared at the ground in silence.

“Still don't wanna talk, huh?”

She turned to face Liv, visibly conflicted.

“Ma’am, I-”

“Hey. ‘Ma’am’? I gave you my name, please use it.”

“Right. Liv.” She bit her lip. “Well… You just got me out of prison. You promised to help me. I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful, but… You’ve been pretty secretive yourself. I barely know who you are.”

Liv stayed silent a few seconds. She put the saddle aside and untied the bridle.

“You're right,” she admitted. “That's fair. I shouldn't have pushed you.”

Surprised to have gotten her point across so easily, Kathleen left the stable and took a few steps in the grass. Two young horses were climbing back the soft slope from the river down below. The light of the sunset falling through the leaves painted a peaceful scenery.

A hand fell on her shoulder.

“Let’s go inside. The Praetor will want to see you.”

“That sounds military.”

“It is.”

“I thought this was a temple?”

“Yes. It’s an old title. Think of her as our high priestess, if it helps.”

“Should I be scared?”

An air of sadness briefly passed upon Liv’s eyes.

“I’m afraid you will be regardless.”

They entered through the massive doors into a hall. A single table and a handful of chairs stood apart in the immensity of the room which could have housed over fifty guests. Three women were sitting there. The first one was tying a leather grip on the handle of a shortsword, occasionally pushing back strands of platinum hair falling over her fawn eyes. She was so pale she appeared as an angelic porcelain in the light of the oil torches. Another was studying a decrepit document that was partially burned. Her curled auburn hair was hastily assembled in a messy bun, but her most distinguishing feature was the impressive amount of cabalistic symbols tattooed on her warm tawny skin from shoulders to wrists. She barely reacted to the new arrival. The third one was by far the shortest. A sly sparkle was lighting her dark slanted eyes and she was playing with a short dagger. A joyful smile illuminated her face at the sight of Liv, and she jumped to her feet to greet them.

“You're back!”

She embraced Liv’s huge figure as best she could, meaning around the waist. Liv briefly hugged her back, and patted her arm.

“I’m glad to see you too, Liao. Is the Praetor here?”

Steps echoed on the floor from the far end of the hall. A fourth woman in a simple dress walked towards them, an impassible expression on her face. Her umber black skin offered a sharp contrast with her snow-white hair braided in cornrows. Though she wasn’t as physically imposing as Liv, and older by at least a dozen years, she radiated confidence and authority. She addressed a brief smile to Liv. 

“We’re glad to have you back. Is that her?”

“Yes.” She gently led Kathleen in front of her, hands on her shoulders.

“You've confirmed it?”

“There wasn't much room for doubt.”

“Which is she?”

“Which one am I?” Kathleen repeated, confused.

“Unsure,” Liv replied. “Emotional, that much is clear. Maybe the Flaming Wolf, or Primal Ember. I thought tomorrow we could-”

“Liv.” She raised a hand. “You know we can't afford to wait.”

Liv exchanged a glance with the blonde woman sitting at the table, and shook her head.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered as she took the cloak off the girl’s shoulders and stepped back.

“What for?” asked Kathleen, turning her eyes towards her, a note of panic in her voice.

Out of nowhere, a violent crack echoed in the stone hall. Kathleen turned suddenly to face the Praetor. The woman’s face was an impenetrable mask, piercing blue eyes riveted on the girl. An invisible wind flew in the high priestess’ dress and shook the oil lanterns on the walls. She was standing before Kathleen and had not moved an inch, exactly the same as she was a second ago.

It was the most terrifying sight Kathleen had ever witnessed. Something in her gut twisted and screamed, every instinct flooded by pure, unrelenting terror. She hurriedly stepped back, tripped over herself and fell to the ground with a yelp. Flames erupted from her shoulders and overwhelmed her arms.

The irrational wave of fear passed like a fleeting shadow, leaving her prostrated on the floor, her fire illuminating the whole room.

“Shiny,” someone observed behind her. “We won’t get cold in the winter.”

“Shut it, Liao,” another said. “I'm trying to think. I don't know this one.”

“Kathleen.” That voice was Liv’s. “Are you alright?”

She turned to see Liv leaning over her. Shivering and shocked, the girl struggled to form words.

“What… What in the Hells was that?”

“They needed to see it. It's alright now, settle down.”

“But what happened? What did she do?”

“She scared you.” That voice came from her left. The blonde swordmaiden was at her side. “She does that.”

Kathleen risked a glance at the black woman. She appeared the same, only the frightening aspect had vanished. She nodded at her and turned to the others.

“So, Hilda? Is she a new one?”

The tattooed woman scratched her forehead.

“I can't be sure. I’ll have to do some research.”

“Get on with it,” she ordered as she walked away.

The blonde girl watched her leave, a dubious look on her face. She pulled a chair and sat in front of Kathleen.

“I'm Llianah. I'm sorry your first impression was so… Brutal. We’ll help you put off the fire and then you can get some sleep. You must be exhausted.”

Kathleen shook her head. “No.” She looked at Liv. “I mean, yes, I'm exhausted, but no, I don't want to sleep. I need to know what's happening to me. Please.”

The two women exchanged a glance and nodded at each other imperceptibly.

“Alright,” Liv agreed. “Let’s get you cooled down, and then we’ll talk.”

 

* * *

 

Moments later, the three of them were sitting at the table. Llianah pushed a warm mug towards Kathleen and leaned back in a chair with her own.

“Where do we start? What do you want to know?”

Kathleen tried a careful sip. It was warm and sweet, with a hint of spices, soothing despite her recent fright. She took a deep breath.

“All of it, I think. Who are you? You don't look like clergy. What was that back there? Why did you bring me here? Who’s this goddess I’ve never heard of? Why is your temple so far? What even is a ‘Praetor’? Why in heaven’s name am I _catching fire_?”

Llianah chuckled.

“You’ve brought us an inquisitive one, haven't you?” She winked at Liv, who raised her hands defensively.

“I didn't do the choosing.”

“Alright.” She turned back to Kathleen. “I hope you like stories. This one starts with a legend.”

Kathleen grabbed her mug and nodded in silence.

“Centuries before the formation of the Siluris Empire as you know it, this land around us was home to another people, who called it Qelüünd. Qel texts tell us that some twenty-eight hundred years ago, a cult rose amongst them, one which spoke the prophecy of the Void. Its members  claimed our world was but a shell, a corrupted stretch only meant to be cracked open to the Void. Divine light would then surge from the Void onto this world, cleanse it of all evil, for its final rebirth as an earthly paradise. This ‘Void Cult’ built a magical device meant to breach the fabric of our world and fulfill that very prophecy.”

“I’m guessing they didn't succeed,” Kathleen observed.

“Oh no. They absolutely did.”

Llianah marked a pause to take a sip, unruffled by Kathleen’s confused face.

“They opened a door to nothingness right in the middle of the capital. And the cleansing began. Void creatures poured into our land and massacred its people. An absolute bloodbath. Blades couldn't kill them, arrows barely slowed them down. No place was safe, they trampled and devoured every living thing in sight. Rivers ran red and cities burned. For seventeen days, death walked the streets.”

“What happened then?”

“As the sun set for the eighteenth night, the Lady of the Light, the Daybreak, the one we now call goddess Æmeryl, invested a city soldier with divine powers. The soldier went to the rift and fought the beasts at their source. She battled all night, until finally, at sunrise, she destroyed the device and sealed the rift.”

“Just like that?”

“It’s a legend, girl. They tend to warp the facts. I suspect that fight didn't go as easily as it’s told”

“And what became of the soldier?”

“Her name was Adrianne. We call her the Shield of Dawn. She was the first of us, the founder of our order.”

“I’m guessing she opposed the Void Cult.”

“Yes, but it wasn't the most pressing threat. Most cult leaders died while opening the rift. Their organisation was in shambles. But their actions left scars. When they ripped open the veil, shards flew like shooting stars all over the continent, each of them infused with the power of the Void.”

“Dark magic?”

Llianah shook her head.

“I don't think there is such a thing. The shards — they've been called Shards of Twilight, or sometimes Void Crystals — aren’t even inherently magic. But they call to the Void. Using them weakens the fabric of reality, and can lead to new rifts being opened. And that,” she pointed her thumb at her chest, “is where we come in.”

“You… destroy the shards?”

“We cleanse the shards, fight the voidlings and close the rifts.”

“But how? I thought that soldier had an actual god at her side to accomplish that!”

“Æmeryl didn't stop at one champion.”

Kathleen blinked repeatedly.

“You…”

“Yup,” Llianah confirmed.

“And you!” Kathleen exclaimed toward Liv, who nodded in return. “Heavens.”

“Nothing so dramatic,” Llianah mocked.

“I'm dramatic? You literally just told me you have godlike powers!”

“I wish it was that impressive… The truth is, while we're uniquely qualified to handle this threat, it’s often overwhelming, even for us.”

Kathleen shook her head in disbelief.

“So… What does it have to do with me bursting into flames?”

Llianah looked at her with curiosity.

“I thought that was obvious.”

Kathleen looked at her, dumbstruck. She turned to Liv, then to Llianah again, before opening her eyes wide, shocked.

“You said… I… No!”

“Yes,” replied Liv.

“Did you just explain to me that I've been... chosen… by a divine being, no less… to protect this world from some… occult power?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She stood up, shaking from every limb, and walked away. She was breathing heavily as she lay her head against the wall.

“Kathleen?”

Liv had gone after her.

“Yes? No. I mean.” She made a visible effort to gather herself. “I'm sorry. You were right. I really need to sleep.”


	2. Moonlight Escapade

“One day, he’s going to get me killed,” Misty whispered.

Hanging from the tips of her fingers, she cursed the cold night wind under her breath and ignored the growing ache in her shoulders. Above her, on the balcony, some nobleman was reciting a poem dedicated to — according to the verses he had probably written himself — ‘the idolised jewel of his lonely dreams’. Despite her precarious position, she scoffed at the man’s terrible courtship. The painful limerick was dragging on, much to her annoyance. A freezing gust shook her short vest, slipping through the poorly sewn holes to unprotected skin.

“That was, uh… Very thoughtful, I'm sure,” a feminine voice said as the obnoxious verse finally ended.

“You thought so?”

Clutching to the stone with frigid fingers, Misty rolled her eyes.

“That means she doesn't want you, thick skull,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the scarf covering her face. “Now get your inflated ego back inside, I really need to move.”

“It’s getting cold. We should go back in,” decided the woman.

“Already? But I thought we…”

“Yes, I'm quite sure,” she interrupted. The clicking of her heels moved back towards the door and disappeared into the ambient noise of the busy reception. After a long, dramatic sigh, the heavier sound of the man’s shoes followed the same way.

“About time,” Misty mumbled, hooking her heel on the edge of the balcony and swiftly pulling herself over the parapet. Massaging her numb forearms, she snuck inside the residence. She moved as silently as a cat on the hardwood floor, the occasional faint crack covered by the constant babbling of the nobles and aristocrats partying downstairs. The smell of grilled pork and wine drifted onto her nostrils, stirring her hunger despite her efforts to ward it off. She spat on the ground in disgust. Such a display of wealth was outrageous. Even if these bloated pigs were to eat half their weight in fat and meat, most of the food would still be thrown onto the streets in the morning.

She pushed the door to an empty bedroom, slipped inside silently and closed behind her. The moon shining through the windows illuminated her surroundings. The huge canopy bed looked almost small in the absurdly vast room, flanked on both sides by long vanities. She went to the first one and pillaged its contents without distinction, silver and pearls indiscriminately cluttering her crude old bag. She moved on to the second one. The main drawer resisted when she yanked the handle. She pulled out a short blade, hesitating. Breaking the lock would be quick and easy, but the noise might attract unwanted attention. Picking it would take time, which would prove equally dangerous if one of the rich nobles decided to take a break from the debauchery and the exorbitant food and wine and wandered upstairs.

“You done yet?” a voice whispered in her ear.

She jumped in surprise, held a scream and swung the blade, missing only by a hair.

“Wow! Watch it!”

“Griffin! Bloody souls, what were you thinking creeping up on me like that?” she hissed.

The young boy quickly regained his composure and dusted an imaginary speck of dirt off his vest.

“I was thinking you look cute when you're surprised.”

“Oh, sod off. What are you doing here, I thought you were taking the offices?”

“I did. Watch this.”

Griffin pulled a pendant from his satchel. Solid gold, a handful of shiny stones set in the metal. Exquisite engravings running on its polished surface. Probably worth a fortune. Misty snorted.

“Score! That's what he gets for letting something like that out in the open.”

“He didn't. Took it from the safe.”

She blinked in surprise.

“You're kidding. You went in, cracked a safe and caught up with me in, like, fifteen minutes?”

He simply shrugged.

“I guess I'm just that good. Stick with me and maybe one day you’ll be too.”

She smacked the back of his head.

“Stop bragging and open this one, since you're so talented.”

Griffin blew away the strands of golden hair obstructing his view and leaned over the lock. He grabbed a tiny blade from his belt and inserted it. After a few seconds of fiddling, the lock clicked.

“Here you go, princess,” he said as he moved aside, mimicking a bow.

She opened the drawer and stifled a curse.

“Blast!”

“What?”

“Just letters and papers. Nothing valuable.”

“What about the other?”

“Already did this one. A few trinkets, cheap stuff. Nothing big.”

He looked around him.

“Party won't go on forever. We gotta bail. Better luck next time.”

She swallowed her disappointment and closed the drawer.

“Fine. What's our way out?”

“There are helpers’ aprons in a room near the kitchen. With them, we can leave through the service entrance. They won't look at us long enough to see the difference. These rich guys never know the faces of their servants anyway.”

“The Hells they won’t! Are you daft? That’s baron Albrundel’s house! They'll never believe he hired a black girl!”

The boy froze.

“Damn. I always forget how these old nobles are. That crap is illegal, you know?”

“No, Griffin, I'm completely unaware of the laws dictating my own social worth. Of course I know, dumbass. And besides, who cares? Point is, your plan blows!”

“Right. Sorry. My bad.” He scratched his forehead. “Any suggestions?”

She sighed.

“Guess I’m out the same way I came in. I was _not_ looking forward to risking my neck again.”

“Be careful. We meet at our spot in an hour.”

 

* * *

 

The pebble flew in the air and ricocheted four times on the water’s surface before diving with a loud plop. Misty watched it getting carried away by the stream through the clear water, settling on the river floor next to a large stone pier.

“Only four? You must be feeling down.”

She threw another stone without looking at Griffin.

“Water is troubled. Old Lukthul must be having insomnia.”

“You still believe this legend?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “I just like it. The river god sinking the boats of the greedy… That's a philosophy to live by.”

He tapped her shoulder.

“You're not mad at me, are you?”

“No.” She threw another pebble. “I mean, yes, a little. Especially considering it started to rain on the way down, and these stupid stones got slippery. But I managed. Got out with my whole fifteen days’ worth of food. Since that was supposed to be this month’s big score, it’s not you I’m really mad about.”

He sat on the rocks of the shore.

“Misty, come on, don’t let it get to you. I was the one who suggested the heist, remember? You even argued it was too dangerous.”

“That’s not the point, we agreed in the end. And we both got in and out with no hiccups, so clearly, I overestimated the risks. I just expected more.”

“I see.”

He looked at the river flow.

“Hey, you know what? Take this.”

He was holding the engraved pendant. She frowned.

“I don’t want your charity.”

“That’s not charity. I’ve been the better burglar, but you made the plans, did the research, scoped the building. Using the distraction of the party was your idea. The one part of the plan that was on me, I screwed it up. You did everything right. Way I see it, that’s worth something.”

“Grif...”

“Just take it,” he insisted. “I can go by. I’m not going empty-handed either, the safe was full of coins. And you know better fences than I do, so you’ll get a better price anyway. Maybe even half what it’s really worth.”

“Man, I can’t take this. That’s not how it works, you found it, it’s yours. Guild’s rules.”

“Guild’s rules don’t say nothing about a little helping between friends.”

He placed the necklace into Misty’s hand.

“How about you keep running with me, and we call it even?”

She looked at stones glistening in the moonlight, then smiled, and offered a hand to her partner.

“You know I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, grabbing her hand and standing up. “I bet you’ll think of something.”

“For now, I’m thinking of drinks! And I’m buying.”

 

* * *

 

“Cheers.”

Misty raised her tankard filled to the brim and took a long sip. The ale had a strong taste, a little bitter on the tongue.

“So?” the barmaid asked, raising her voice to cover the voices of the dense crowd. She filled a second mug and passed it to Griffin.

“So what?” Misty said, feigning obliviousness.

The woman tilted her head.

“So… How did it go?”

“How did what go?” she replied, stone-faced.

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” Griffin added, wiping the foam from his lips.

The barmaid crossed her arms.

“Cut it out, you two. The baron’s house. Tell me!”

“Oh, that.” She put her tankard down and winked at Griffin, who muffled a laugh in his drink.

“Misty, I swear…” the woman started, leaning down over the bar.

“Okay, it went well.”

“Just well?”

“Yeah. Worse than I’d hoped, better than I feared.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Griffin intervened. “Her plan was flawless.”

“We were talking loot, I didn’t think that even came into question!” Misty protested.

“She’s right, it wasn’t,” the barmaid approved.

“Oh, so it’s my execution you were worried about?” Griffin said indignantly, playing hurt.

“I hate you both.” She gave him a stern eye. “Now tell me everything, or the next drink comes with red pepper.”

“Alright,” Misty agreed. “We did fine, Third Rule got well served tonight. But if you ask me, Albrundel’s wealth is overrated. He’s all titles and properties, but when it comes to actual gold, he overplays his hand. Enough for the two of us and the Guild’s cut, but not much more.”

A massive man chose this moment to shove them apart and sit on a stool between them. Under a bald head, remnants of a severe burn marked the left side of his face over an empty eye socket. Despite his frightful appearance, his smile was full of warmth.

“Did I hear that right? That calls for a celebratory song, miss.”

“You can’t ask me every night, Gabe, you know?”

“Oh, I can, and tonight I even have an excuse for it!” he exclaimed. “Your score, and Elise is here to play with us. Tell her, Abby.”

“Come on, girl, don’t play hard to get,” the barmaid pushed her.

“Oh, now you’re ganging up on me?”

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” the man said, winking his good eye and turning around. “Who wants to hear a song from Misty?” he bellowed towards the crowd.

The enthusiastic clamor of dozens of regulars answered him immediately.

“See? Now you can’t refuse them.”

“I’ll make you pay for that,” Misty promised, holding eye contact as she walked backwards towards the improvised stage. A tall and slender blonde woman joined her, an old violin in hand.

“Looks like you got ambushed,” she pointed out.

“Nice to see you too, Elise.”

Gabriel walked to them, pinching the strings of a long mandolin.

“Song?” Elise asked.

“Dealer’s choice,” the man answered, pointing his chin toward Misty.

“Remember last time we played for that Yaldian crew?”

“ _Naiads of the South Bridge,”_ Elise approved. “On your mark.”

She cleared her throat, nodded to the musicians, and began singing.

The melody rose, joyful, the lyrics jolly and playfully lewd. Misty’s voice rang clear and silvery, full of warmth and heart. Gabriel’s low and rough tones joined hers, along with the music from their instruments. Before long, dozens of drunken sailors were clapping and cheering, and a growing crowd assembled on the docks outside the tavern.

They played for an hour and a half before Misty called for a break. She made her way back to the bar, slightly stumbling.

“Someone looks like they’re having a good night,” the barmaid remarked.

“I don’t know,” Misty said with a devious smile. “Night’s young, Abby, maybe you can still make it better.”

“I’d love to, honey, but I can’t leave the bar. I’m on my own tonight, Scarlett is sick. And you’ve seen the crowd.” She refilled her mug. “Better go get yourself a nice treat. I’ve heard the Silver Mermaid just hired some new boys, islanders from the south. All long hair and muscles. Right up your alley.”

“I’ll consider it. Maybe I’ll try my luck with your customers first, if I can find one or two to my taste.”

Mug in hand, she disappeared in the crowd of sailors, crooks and prostitutes.

At the bar, Griffin sighed and took another long sip.

“Griffin, you really should forget about it,” the barmaid advised. “She ain’t sleeping with partners and you know it. Getting hung up won’t bring you anything but grief.”

“I know. I’m not.”

“Grif…” she started.

“No, Abigail, for real, I’m not. I’m over it by now. It’s about the job. She’s too hard on herself.”

“Or maybe you’re not hard enough on yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, a slight note of hostility in his voice.

“It means she’s careful, and you’re a cocky bastard,” Abigail retorted on the same tone. “It might be charming to some, but it’s for sure a trait that killed one too many thieves.”

“Not me,” he winked. “I’m too pretty to die.”

“I’ll write that on your tombstone.”

“I’m sure you will.” He finished his drink and put down the tankard. “Put it on Misty’s tab, she’s buying. I think I’ll take your advice and stop by the Mermaid. Take care.”


	3. Bloodied Ice

“Power,” the woman said, wiping the blood dripping from her forehead. With visible effort, she picked up her sword and rose to her feet once more.

Fifteen steps in front of her, her opponent casually stroke his boots with his staff to remove the snow clinging to the soles. A cold breeze passed over the hill, hissing between the sparse trees and the frosty rocks.

“Power?” he asked, a note of disdain in his voice. “That’s it?”

“Yes!” she spat.

“I’m supposed to believe you travelled all the way from Hykulla, sought me out on the basis of a mere rumor, and provoked this duel for something as petty as _power_?”

“Petty?” she erupted. “If not for power, what else? Power is everything out there.” Rage deformed her fierce features. She raised her sword and lunged at him.

“Ludicrous.” He parried the attack with ease, twirled his staff and swept her legs from the side with one brutal swing. “Power is all these idiots in the capital can babble about. But you left them and came to me. You are not here, bones broken and spitting blood, for power. Power is not worth risking your life over. Power is not an end.”

She shook her head and stood on one knee, breathing heavily. She grabbed some snow with her free hand. With a flash of light, it turned into razor-sharp ice crystals which she threw ferociously at her foe. The projectiles exploded in mid-air before reaching him. In a split second, he crossed the distance separating them and violently kicked her open chest. There was a distinct crack of ribs shattering. The woman screamed in pain and rolled down the hill until a frozen tree stump stopped her fall.

She forced herself to raise her head. She had lost her blade in the fall. The man was walking towards her, a feral look in his eyes.

“What do you seek power for?”

Out of breath, legs shaking, she pulled a knife from her belt.

“For freedom.”

Her clumsy stab was blocked before a savage punch smashed her in the face and sent her back to the ground. She tried to get back up but only managed to fall on her knees.

“Freedom to live on my own terms.” She spat out a broken tooth, her blood dripping on the immaculate snow. “To never depend on anyone.”

The man seized her by her long black hair, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He exhaled slowly on her face.

“Lies.”

He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her from the ground. Ignoring her hands clawing at his wrist, he threw her in the air. She landed face first into a small stream. The ice-cold water drenched her furs. Groaning in pain, she managed to pull herself on her back, only to feel a boot stomp on her chest, crushing her. She yelled, hopelessly punching the heavy leather. The water running over her chest started to solidify, imprisoning her into frozen ice. Hoarfrost gained on her throat, making its way to her cheeks.

The man asked again, slowly articulating each word: “What do you seek power for?”

She screamed desperately.

“For vengeance!”

The ice broke down, freeing her throat and lungs. The man lifted his foot and stared at her face, a spark of interest in his eye.

“That, I can work with.”

 

* * *

 

She came to her senses to the light of a fire. She was indoors, on a stone floor, in what seemed to be a winter refuge. Her first move awoke a crushing pain on the side of her chest. Grunting, she pulled on her dripping furs, struggling to untie the knots with shaky fingers. She left the clothes on the floor and dragged herself to the fireplace. The heat of the flames quickly warmed her skin through the soaked linen of her shirt.

“Five fractured ribs, and half a dozen minor breaks, give or take.” The man’s voice came from a corner of the room. “Probably not life-threatening. If nothing else, at least you can take a beating.”

She probed her side carefully, wincing every time she touched a broken bone.

“You’ll heal.”

“What, you're feeling sorry now?” she asked, barely containing the vitriol in her voice.

“Not in the slightest. You lost the right to complain the second you set foot on my grounds. I'm sure the folks back in the valley warned you abundantly.”

“I don't believe everything I hear. Do you break the bones of everyone who comes asking for you?”

“No.” He stood up and pulled a stool near the fire. “Most of them, I kill.”

She observed his face in the light of the flames. Grey eyes, a short beard, his mighty build somehow even more impressive without his heavy furs. Beyond his colossal appearance, his most singular feature were the numerous scarifications on his bald head.

“Why am I still breathing, then? Clearly, I didn't win.”

“No, you didn't. It’s no surprise. Better fighters than you have tried and failed.”

“So why?”

“Curiosity.”

He walked out without another word. Disconcerted, she picked up her furs and laid them down in front of the fire. The man stepped back inside the second she finished, an impressive piece of meat in his hand. He dropped it on a crude metallic plate he placed directly on the fire.

“What about me makes you so curious?”

The man leaned back against the table. “I wanted to know what made such an educated and wealthy woman desperate enough to seek this pariah.”

“Wealthy?”

“If you aren’t, you were at some point.” He grabbed a sword laying on the table. She recognised her own weapon. “This blade here is engraved with a family crest.”

“That's mine.” She reached out to grab the handle.

“No, it's not.” He put the sword back on the table.

She tried to stand up, rage taking over her face.

“Give it back, you—”

“Has fighting me worked so well for you before that you feel confident you can take it back in your current state?”

She stopped and hesitated. Anger turned into bitterness, and she sat back down.

“What is that noble family of yours? Where did you get this from?”

“I could have stolen it.”

“Yes, but you didn't. Your fighting stance is unbalanced, your moves made of bits and pieces you picked up on the road, but underneath, you still have remnants of your fancy postures and manners. The magic you wield is a little unruly, but overall you’re a textbook student from the High College of Sorcery — that’s not a compliment, by the way — and they're not known for taking in commoners. Finally, you came here asking for my help yet you act as though you're entitled to it.”

She stayed silent.

“How long were you at the College?”

“Four years.”

“You show greater mastery than most do in the same amount of time. Not highly impressive, but still, by their standards, you’re a fast learner. Why didn’t you stay and study like a good girl?”

She shot him an angry glance.

“You of all people should know. With them scholars, it’s all ceremony, etiquette, tradition and a whole lot of grovelling. ‘Show me you can do elementary spells five dozen times, and maybe, I’ll consider bringing your name up in the next old beards collective, so that if you’re very lucky, we might teach you a teeny bit more.’ In less than five months, I could summon the Tenth Essence, but all they could say was my technique wasn’t _refined_ enough. That it lacked elegance. That whole academy is a nauseating mix of conservationism and elitism, and yet all it cultivates is mediocrity. Not to mention their utter contempt for cryomancy. I could have learned all I have in a quarter of that time, if they only had let me.”

He nodded slowly.

“That's not the only reason, is it?”

She looked away.

“What's it to you?”

“Nothing. Yet. But as I said, I didn't spare your life out of mercy, so you might want to reconsider that reply.”

She threw him another venomous look.

“What, you think just because you can kill me, you get to order me around?”

“Such pride. Yes, I do. Someone who clings to life as hard as you do won't throw it away out of mere hubris. That, and the fact that you came seeking something only I can provide. Now tell me.”

She lowered her eyes to the ground.

“They said I... peaked. That it was as high as I would ever go. That my gift wasn't powerful enough.”

“I see. And you're here hoping I can help you get stronger regardless. All so that you can return and make them choke on their words. Is that it?”

Her bloodied lips formed a brittle, joyless smile.

“Yes. That. And so, so much more. I went there because I needed that power. They couldn't give it to me, so I came to you. They were just a tool in the long game. The revenge I long for isn't for them.”

He gave her a long, thoughtful stare.

“Who are you?”

“Thalia. Thalia of Silverfall.”

“Well, Thalia of Silverfall. You did spike my interest. Let's see where this thirst for vengeance can get you.”


	4. Burden of Choice

“Just give her time.”

Liao’s dagger zipped through the air, missed the target by an inch and hit the tree for the fifth time. She squinted as the morning light hurt her eyes.

“Damn. Can't get it right.”

“You're not focused,” Llianah explained with patience. “You need to put your mind into it.”

“Easy for you to say,” she groaned, pulling another blade from her belt. She positioned herself and threw it swiftly towards the target.

“Missed,” Llianah commented without even looking.

“You could have a little faith!”

“I’ll have faith when you focus.”

Liao pouted. “Anyway. My point is, she’ll come around.”

“I don't know,” Llianah wondered, fiddling with strands of her silver hair. “She seemed pretty spooked.”

“Of course she was spooked. She hadn't been here for twenty minutes and Scarmadilla had already gone all Praetor on her. I’d be spooked too. But she’ll come around. Even I did, in the end, didn't I?”

Llianah smiled. “You played hard to get, but your heart was with us all along.”

“Don't get romantic. I just did what made sense.” She pulled the daggers from the wood. “You don't seem so eager to have her join us,” Liao noted.

“I just…” She waved at the air. “She’s scared. We’re pushing her, but did we even consider whether she wants this?”

“Wants?” Liao scoffed. “She’s been handpicked by a goddess! When in the last two thousand years has there been a Æmerylli who truly refused that calling?”

“Our records aren’t even close to exhaustive. Maybe more than we think tried to. Maybe, if given half a choice…”

She went silent, lost in her thoughts.

“Well, I like her,” Liao said, indifferent. “She's cute. Did Hilda find something? What is that blaze?”

Llianah broke out of her trance.

“I don't know. She was still at it past midnight, I’m not sure she even slept. Liv suggested the Flaming Wolf, but that red hair does not fit.”

“Speaking of…”

Kathleen and Liv had appeared at the corner of the temple. Liao waved at them. “Better today?”

Kathleen nodded. “A little.”

“All this must be very strange to you.”

“No, not at all. It’s actually the third time this week I’m invited into an ancient order of warrior-priestesses.”

They all looked at her, mystified. She smiled nervously and Liao burst into laughter.

“Nice one,” she complimented. “See?” She hit Llianah in the shoulder. “Already cracking jokes! She’ll fit right in.”

Llianah gave her a stern eye, but she seemed relieved when she looked at Kathleen.

“I'm glad you're feeling better.”

Liao cut in again. “So. Tell us everything! What can you do?”

“Can I do?” The girl looked puzzled. “Well, I’m a public scribe. I write and read letters for people who—"

“No, not that,” Liao stopped her impatiently. “Your gift, your spark. What does it do?”

Kathleen turned to Liv. “What is she talking about?”

“She’s jumping the horn, is what she’s doing,” Liv scolded. “Kathleen here only turned seventeen last week.”

“Oh. She's all new!” Liao exclaimed. “How did you find her so fast? Did Hil—" She stopped. “Oh. Right. Burning girl in lowtown. Forget I asked.”

“I still don't understand,” Kathleen insisted.

“We’re not absolutely clear on when the choosing occurs,” Llianah explained, “for all we know it could be at birth. But it always becomes apparent at age seventeen.”

“And that ‘spark’ thing? What is it?”

“Our powers are vastly different from one sister to another,” Liv continued. “We call it a spark. It defines your abilities. The same spark can appear in many people over generations. If we can find which one yours is, we’ll have a better understanding of what you can do with it and how to help you use it. Most sparks are of a nature which we call ‘emotional’. These are triggered by emotions: fear, anger, joy… Any emotion, really.”

“So that's what you meant yesterday. You also mentioned a wolf?”

“The Flaming Wolf. Yes. There was one last century. Arielle, or something?”

“Arune,” Llianah corrected. “She could turn into a giant, wolf-like creature made of fire.”

“... I can do that?” Kathleen asked, wide-eyed.

“You can, _if_ you are the Flaming Wolf. We don't know yet. Description isn’t far off, but your hair turning red? I’ve never heard that about Arune.”

“And how do we find out?”

“We compare what we know about you with our records. Some are more obvious than others. There have been over two hundred known sparks over the ages, so it can take a while. That's Hilda’s job. It can also be something unheard of, a new spark entirely.”

“That still happens?”

“Well, there has to be a first. Ask Liao.”

Kathleen turned to the tiny girl, who grinned widely.

“Original spark! I got to name it.”

Kathleen smiled back. Liao’s cheerfulness was contagious.

“So… What are you?” she asked.

There was a soft sound, like a sharp gust, and Liao vanished. She reappeared twenty feet away in mid-air, threw a dagger at the target — missed — and vanished again.

“Show-off,” commented Llianah.

“Hi there,” said a voice behind Kathleen. Baffled, she spun around to discover Liao lying down in a graceful pose in the grass behind her. She disappeared a third time and materialised two inches in front of her.

“I’m the Swift Trickster.”

They laughed at Kathleen’s awestruck expression.

“I tell you, this one was a pain to find,” Llianah said. “I had to scour half of Ocattol just to talk to her. The little brat used her gift to steal food and alcohol from marketplaces, and get away before anyone would notice.”

“I didn't stop at drinks…” Liao added with a smirk.

“I was going to leave jewelry out of the story, but since you insist.”

She winked. “What can I say? I like shiny things.”

“Did you say Ocattol?” asked Kathleen. “The Yaldo capital?”

“Yes. Half the merchants there went nearly insane because of her.”

“Aw. You're flattering me,” Liao teased.

“I should have guessed you were Yaldian,” said Kathleen.

Liao stared at her. “What, because of this?” she mocked, waving at her golden skin.

Kathleen turned red, speechless with shame.

“Just so you know, Hilda isn’t from the islands, and our Praetor was born and raised in the capital,” Liao taunted.

“I'm sorry,” Kathleen whispered, mortified.

“Come on, Liao, that's enough,” Liv gently admonished her.

“That was a really dumb thing to say!” Liao protested.

“Yes, it was, and she apologised for it. Don't push it.”

“Fine,” she conceded, rolling her eyes. She pulled a blade from her belt and walked back towards the tree.

“Don't worry,” Llianah reassured Kathleen. “She’s not mad. She's just teasing you.”

They sat on the ground, watching Liao throw daggers.

“That was incredible,” Kathleen said . “I had never seen magic from that close.”

“Oh no,” Liv said. “That's not magic at all.”

“That's not…” Kathleen frowned. “She appeared out of thin air!”

“You misunderstand,” Llianah stepped in. “It’s a different nature. Sorcery is a rare ability one is born with. It can be strong or faint, but it's innate. It can't be given or learned. What we have is divine power that was bestowed upon us. You could walk in front of an entire college of sorcerers and none of them would be the wiser.”

“We’re talking about unearthly forces, yet you make it sound so… casual.”

“Spending several years as a vessel for divinity makes a woman rethink her perspective.”

“Except for Liao,” Liv observed. “Three years in and she's just as brazen and carefree as her first day.”

“How did you find her, in the end?” Kathleen asked. “Why were you looking in Ocattol in the first place?”

“With patience. Usually, we use informers, who are in the lookout for unexplained events, like, say, sightings of a thief who literally vanishes. Most of the time, the Chosen realize something is different with them, and seek answers on their own. Sooner or later, we hear of them and we can reach out to them. These days, even better, we have Hilda.”

“Hilda? Isn’t she the archivist?”

“She reads nine languages, manages the entirety of our records up from over two thousand years ago, knows our history better than anyone, and is possibly the only living expert on Qel culture. On top of that, her spark, Ethereal Dreaming, allows her to communicate with the ghosts of Æmerylli who lived before our time, giving her access to lost knowledge and sometimes even prophecies, like the occurrence of a new choosing. I don't think calling her an archivist does her justice.”

“I didn't mean to…” Kathleen stuttered.

“Of course not,” Liv tempered. “You didn’t know. But you presumed, as you did of Liao’s origins. You should be more careful with your assumptions.”

She nodded vigorously.

“I will.”

Liao walked back to them.

“I’m bored,” she said. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Inside, they found Hilda leaning over piles of papers, picking absently from a pile of fried vegetables. The band holding her hair had loosened up, her sloppy bun of auburn curls dangling to the side.

“Any progress?” Llianah asked.

She lifted her head from the old pages.

“Not much. We can write off the Wolf, that much is clear. Primal Ember is out too. Right now I’m looking into — Liao, if you steal from my plate, I'm gonna stab you — into records from the Pozia dynasty, or what's left of it. How’s she adapting?”

“Getting there,” Liv replied, patting Kathleen’s head with her large hand. “We’ll make a Daughter out of her yet.”

Liao emitted a disapproving noise.

“That's not very encouraging!” Kathleen protested.

“What? Oh no, that's not about you. It's that name.” She mimicked a grandiloquent posture. “The Daughters of Æmeryl.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I just don't like thinking of y’all as sisters.”

She disappeared towards the kitchen, humming for herself.

“Hey.” Hilda hit the table with her mug. “Not to be rude, but if you don't need me for anything, just go away and let me work in peace.”

“Sorry,” Llianah apologized. “Come with me,” she told Kathleen. “You probably want to change. A burned dress isn’t the most practical outfit. Or the most fashionable…”

They crossed the hallways into what appeared to be a storage room. Liv rummaged in a huge chest and brought out a short white tunic and leather boots, complete with a belt, a light chestpiece and simple pauldrons.

“This should be about your size.”

“This looks like combat gear,” Kathleen objected.

“It is. This is standard equipment for our novices.”

Intimidated, Kathleen slowly removed her tattered dress and grabbed the clothes Llianah handed her.

“You said ‘Daughters’. Are all Chosen women?” she asked while passing on the tunic.

“They’ve all been so far. Here, this way.” She helped her adjust her protections. “How are you feeling?”

“A little weird,” Kathleen admitted. “But they fit”

“It’s still early,” Liv noted. “We can go through the basics of archery before noon.”

Kathleen hesitated. “Now?”

“No time like the present.”

The girl nodded silently and followed them back to the training site.

“Here, hold this,” Llianah commanded as she handed her a full quiver. She caught a bow Liv launched at her and proceeded to tighten the bowstring. “Stand here.” She took the quiver from Kathleen and placed the bow in her hesitant hands. “Stronger.”

Kathleen tightened her grip, avoiding her gaze. The swordmaiden’s voice was still warm and patient, but somehow more commanding, more imperious than it was before.

“Wrong stance.” She gently grabbed her shoulders to position her and lightly kicked her legs apart. She pulled an arrow and helped her nock it.

“Align your hand with your shoulder. Don't look at the bow, look at the target. Both eyes open, you need perspective. Now breathe. Draw to your cheek. Focus on your point of aim. Lock your arm. Release.”

The arrow flew in the air and disappeared between the trees.

“Again,” Llianah ordered.

The second shot missed by an even larger mark.

“You're too tense. Try to relax.”

Kathleen closed her eyes, took a deep breath and drew a third time. The arrow grazed the cloth and fell on the ground.

“Better. Again.”

Two dozen arrows later, only four of them had hit the bale of hay, and none on target.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say you're not a natural,” Llianah chuckled. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she added, noticing Kathleen’s disappointed face. “You have plenty of time to improve.”

The girl laughed nervously.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No, it’s…” She made a vague gesture. “Last week, my biggest concern was to find new shoes before winter. Two days ago, I caught fire in the middle of a marketplace, and now I’m training to fight demons with a bow I can't shoot straight.”

“You're overwhelmed. I understand.”

“Well, I don't. Didn't you say yesterday the demons can't be shot? What is even the point of archery?”

“Void creatures,” Liv corrected. “And the legend is a little exaggerated. They’re tough, often heal incredibly fast, and they barely feel pain. But they can be killed.”

“Oh. Thanks, I'm feeling much more confident now,” Kathleen sneered.

Liv patted her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. Once we figure out what you can do, you'll probably just burn them all to a crisp. And look on the bright side: you do have new shoes.”

Kathleen smiled timidly.

“It's still scary. And it feels like a huge burden. You said shards were all over the continent. How do you handle that, just the five of you?”

Llianah’s face crumbled, all joy vanished in a heartbeat. Liv softly put her hand on Kathleen’s arm.

“There used to be more of us.”

A long and heavy silence followed these words.

“Llia,” Liv said gently, letting go of Kathleen’s arm. “Do you want me to—"

“No.” She shook her head. “Just… I need a moment with Kathleen.”

Liv raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue and walked away.

“I didn’t intend to—" Kathleen started to apologize before Llianah stopped her.

“I don’t want to talk about the past with you.” Her voice was slightly shaking, but resolve lit her eyes. “Not now. But I need something from you. So please listen very carefully.”

Kathleen nodded in silence.

“Whatever happens, we’re here for you. You’re one of us, and we don’t give up on our own. We’re all we have. I will be with you all along the way, I will help you get stronger. With time, I can train you to be a better fighter than you ever thought possible. But I can’t make you believe, and even if I could, that’s the last thing I ever want to do. What we do isn’t to be taken lightly. We’ve been given strength to fight, yet sometimes we lose. We get hurt. Sometimes, we’re killed. Æmerylli rarely die of old age. Do you understand?”

“I think so…”

“No, you probably don't. Not fully. That's alright. You just got here… You can't make a decision now. But I want you to promise me, the day you take up arms and walk into battle, do it because you believe in what you do. Not because someone told you it’s your fate. Promise me that it’ll be your choice.”

“But…” Kathleen objected. “The legend you told yesterday, the Goddess’ hand. It doesn't seem there is much of a choice.”

“Yes, that is indeed what the scriptures tell us. A higher calling. Some say Æmeryl only chooses women who have it in their heart to join this crusade. But you don't have to believe that. Fight your own battles, for something you believe in. Don't let someone else direct your life, Goddess or not.”

“But you fight,” Kathleen remarked. “If not the Goddess, what do you believe in?”

Llianah’s fawn eyes hardened.

“I believe that if we're not here to stop it, a single voidling can kill hundreds over the course of one night.”

Kathleen stayed silent, letting the words sink in. Llianah grabbed her softly by the shoulders.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise to keep it in mind.”

Llianah smiled in relief and let go of her.

“That's good enough for me.”

“Kathleen!” a voice called from the temple. Hilda was walking towards them, followed by Liv.

“What is it?” Llianah enquired.

“Hilda found it,” Liv said.

Hilda handed Llianah a small stack of papers.

“She’s the Enkindled Herald.”


	5. Remember and Resent

Misty’s fist knocked eight times of the door, following an odd but very specific rhythm.

“Coming!” yelled a croaky voice from upstairs. The sound of footsteps stumbling down stone stairs followed quickly.

The peephole slid open, and behind it, a pair of furtive eyes briefly peeked at her. The shutter closed and half a dozen locks clicked. The  door creaked on rusted hinges and opened on a tiny entranceway. A decrepit old man stood there, tall despite his hunchback, with a pasty face and glassy eyes. A long black tunic hanged on the edges of his skeletal body.

“Looking good today, Misty,” he whispered.

“You too, Aldeus,” she smiled, walking in.

“Hilarious.” He closed the door.

“No, I'm serious. You look a little more alive than last time.”

“I’ll take it.” He pushed a curtain and walked inside. Misty followed him into a sunless room. A few candles burning on the shabby counter barely lighted the space, however their flames reflected on the thousands trinkets and jewels that cluttered every inch of the walls, giving the dark room an appearance of a star-filled night sky.

“What do you have for me today?” he asked as he sat behind the counter.

She emptied her bag unceremoniously. The pearls and rings rolled on the desk. Aldeus grabbed a magnifying glass and observed a few of them.

“Not bad,” he muttered. “Not bad.”

He split the loot pile in two to separate the silver from the pearls.

“Is this all? This is a light load for you.”

“Oh, right, I almost forgot,” she said as she casually pulled the golden pendant from her purse.

Aldeus’ white eyebrows jumped on his forehead.

“Show me that.”

He grabbed the jewel with his pale crooked fingers and examined it with great interest in the light of the biggest candle.

“Very nice,” he whispered. “Very nice indeed. See that?” He pointed to an engraved pattern. “That's a Tolswanite technique. Exceptional.”

“Tolswan? This trinket crossed the whole ocean?”

“Yes. The beryls are likely to be originally from there too.”

He carefully put the pendant down beside the rest of the loot.

“Alright. I can give you six hundred crowns for the whole.”

Misty shook her head.

“Come on, Aldeus. Two months ago, you gave me three for silver alone.”

“For almost two pounds of it,” Aldeus corrected. “You barely have four ounces today.”

“You'll sell that pendant for two thousands crowns.”

“Yes, I will. But it's a unique piece, with, I suppose, a renowned previous owner. I’ll have to take careful steps so it doesn't trace back to me — or to you, for that matter. It’ll take weeks. And don't forget I too pay a cut to the Guild. Six hundred.”

“The Sailing Caravan will give me nine hundred for it.”

“Then why don't you go see them?” he snapped.

“I will,” she retorted. “I just wanted to give you a chance first.”

He held a stiff expression for a second, then softened up.

“Fine. Nine hundred.”

He reached under the counter to pull out purses he aligned in front of her. She pocketed them with a contented smile.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Aldeus.”

She pretended not to see his eyes roll and stepped out the door. She hesitated a second, then took the direction of the port. The Guild could wait.

She removed the scarf covering her head and let the wind blow over her thick, closely cropped black hair. She strolled alongside the docks, skillfully dodging the carts full of clams and sea urchins, breathing in the air charged with aromas of seaweed and fresh fish. The harbor was still caught in the morning fog which wrapped itself around the ships like a thick blanket and gave the pier a ghostly, otherworldly appearance. She knew it would recede and vanish with the morning sunrise, and the place would return to its mundane, busy reality of haggling, yelling and the occasional alley backstabbing.

She pushed the doors of the Two-Headed Kraken and walked through the empty chairs and tables straight to the bar. Abigail was behind the counter, ordering bottles on the wall.

“Back so soon? We don’t usually serve this early.”

“Hey, Abby. I don’t remember much about last night… And I don’t remember paying my drinks either.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t.” She aligned the last bottle and turned to her. “I assumed it went on your tab.”

“Oh, no. That thing is big enough already.” She dropped a purse on the counter. “In fact, I’m here to cut it down to size.”

Abigail grabbed the purse and weighted it in her hand. “That ought to cover most of it.”

“You're not counting?”

She scoffed. “With the amount of customers you attract twice a month, I should be the one paying you! The least I can do is leave out a few drinks on the house.”  
“Thanks, Ab. Always nice to feel appreciated.”

A skinny brunette leaned her head through the hallway leading to the back of the tavern.

“‘Morning, Misty. I heard I missed your show.”

“I’ll give another for you, Scarlett, I promise. Feeling better?”

“Well enough.” She moved inside. “Word to the wise: never trust cheap shellfish.”

“Rookie mistake,” Misty nodded. “Everyone moving into town makes it once.”

“By the way,” Abigail intervened, “your pal Bitterfingers was asking for you earlier.”

Misty whined. “Already? Can't he let me have a day, or even half of one?”

“Doesn't seem that way.”

“Who’s Bitterfingers?” Scarlett asked.

“Miles, the Guild’s bookkeeper. He’s her arch enemy,” Abigail explained, whispering like a conspirator.

“Yeah, in his mind, probably,” Misty agreed.

“I never heard that nickname.”

“He hates it. Don’t use it in front of him, he can give you more trouble than you’d think,” Abigail advised.

“What’s your story with him?”

Misty sat on the bar. “I worked a job with him once,” she explained. “First and last. We planned together, we agreed, went in, got what we came for. Then, out of nowhere, he decided to forget the plan and go for a bigger payload. Tried to push me into it, played the experience card. He was older, he knew better, at least in his mind. We argued, but it was too high a risk for too little a gain. In the end, I told him he was on his own.”

“Last time I heard this story, you used more colorful words,” Abigail observed, amused.

“Fine. I told him to get blown, that this idea was straight out of a brain rotten with seaweed, and that there was not a snowball’s chance in the Five Hells I was risking myself for that hunch of his. Point is, I left him on the spot.”

“And that’s why he’s mad at you?” Scarlett asked.

“Not really.” Misty made a wry face. “He went on his own, got caught like I predicted, spent the month in a cell awaiting trial and got his right hand cut off as punishment. And he blames it all on me for not backing his play and having his back."

“I understand why he's bitter.” Scarlett frowned. “Oh. I just got the name. That's in terrible taste.”

“I didn't come up with it.”

“And what does he want with you now?”

“Gold.” Misty jumped on her feet. “He must have heard of our job yesterday. His position as the Guild makes him the unofficial enforcer of the Second Rule.”

“Why the rush? Isn’t it customary to wait a few days?”

“Yeah, but it’s me,” she said while walking to the door. “Custom doesn’t apply. I’ll see you both later.”

 

* * *

 

 

She walked up the four flights of stairs at a fast pace, hearing the wood creak with each step. “Old ruin,” she muttered. The Nest was falling to pieces. The Guild would soon have to move to a new place. She picked up her pace as she passed the door to the foyer, hoping to cross it before—

“Misty.”

She sighed and turned around, slowly and reluctantly, to face the man leaning down in a chair in a small alcove next to the door. His face was all scowling eyebrows and edgy cheekbones, thin sideburns underlining his squared jaw, his bloodless lips torn into a humorless smile. He scratched his chin with the back of his wrist, revealing an amputated stump covered in reddish scar tissue, and took a sip from the glass of whiskey he held in his good hand.

“Miles.” She did not try to hide the disgust in her voice.

“So good of you to grace us with your presence,” he said, faking a friendly tone.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been waiting to ambush me all morning?”

He ignored the question. “Someone seems to have forgotten the rules. Not enough reminders?” He pointed his stump at one the six engraved bronze plaques nailed to the wall. “Maybe, if you weren’t such an illiterate little rat, you wouldn’t have that much trouble remembering. What does this say, Misty?”

“I didn’t forget—” she started.

“I asked you a question.”

She clenched her fists, hesitated, and made an effort to calm herself.

“The Tenth Coin.”

“Good. And what does it mean?”

“I know what it means, Miles. One coin out of ten goes to the Guild.” She pulled a purse out of her vest. “Can we skip to the part where I pay up and you stop pestering me?”

“Fine!” He threw his glass across the room and leaned over her, practically spitting over her face. “Better yet, let’s skip to the part where you explain why you’re here only now, while your partner paid his due last night!”

“Griffin had coin,” she answered calmly. “I had jewels. Had to sell them first.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“That’s a fact. I don’t owe you excuses.”

“You owe the Guild gold! How do I know you’re not trying to cheat us out of—"

“The shit is that all about?” a voice yelled from across the room.

Miles sneaked a peek over his shoulder. “Stay out of this, Gabriel.”

“I would have, but then you started squawking like a mad parrot,” the massive man retorted as he walked to them. “I think half of Lowtown heard you. What did she do?”

“Late on pay,” he groaned.

Gabriel curled his lip. “For yesterday’s job? That’s what you’re yelling about? She’s here to pay, now, isn’t she?”

“Late is late.”

“The rule only demands payment. Your imaginary addendums on delays don’t warrant a fuss like this one.” He held out his hand towards Misty. “Give it here.”

She dropped the purse in his hand, which he stuck over Miles’ chest.

“Here you go. Now blow off.”

“I don’t take orders from you, and I’m not finished.”

“Suit yourself. But since she’s paid her cut, you can’t hold her here, and we’re leaving. You can throw the rest of your fit at the wall.” He glanced at Misty. “Coming?”

She slipped between Miles and the wall. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” she acquiesced.

Miles seemed outraged, but did not object any further as they walked away and down the stairs.

Once outside, Misty sighed in relief. “Thanks for the save.”

“Please,” he dismissed it. “You had it covered, I just made it quicker.”

“‘Course I did. Still nice of you. What were you even doing here? You hate the Nest.”

“Negotiating a job. And I don’t _hate_ the Nest!”

She scoffed. “You once called it ‘a rotten deathtrap even rats should avoid’.”

“Right, maybe I do hate the Nest. That tower is open to all winds and rain goes straight through the roof in half of the rooms. And it’s ready to collapse at the first hint of a storm. But mostly, I miss the Foxhole. Warm and cozy, now that was a hideout.”

“That was before my time.”

“A lot was different back then. That little maggot back there wouldn’t even think of pulling this crap. We relied on trust.”

“Times change, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He scratched his bald head. “Maybe they didn’t have to.”

“Gotta live in your own era, old man,” Misty mocked. “Looking back on what-ifs and maybes won’t get you anywhere.”

“That’s a defeatist’s opinion. If you don’t dream, you won’t see how things can improve.”

“And if you don’t wake up, dreaming is all you’ll ever do.”

“You’re way too young to be so cynical,” he sighed. “I have to run an errand. Give my love to Abby.”

 

* * *

 

Misty stepped into the tavern for the second time this day, slightly downhearted. The exchange at the Nest had sapped her spirits, despite its quick resolution. She looked around her. She had been away less than two hours, it was still early, and only a few regulars were already sitting at the tables. Griffin was in a corner, playing dice with two tattooed sailors and, judging by the pile of coins on his side of the table, he was winning.

“Hello again,” Abigail greeted her from behind the counter.

“Hey. Gabe says hi,” Misty replied in a bleak voice.

“You don’t sound too happy,” the barmaid commented. “It went that bad?”

Misty simply shrugged. “Same as ever. Which is the sad part. You’d think he’d get over it at some point. I’m starting to feel like this is going to go on forever between me and him.”

“If he could bring you real harm, he already would have,” Abigail noted. “He’s got nothing on you.”

“I should hope so!” Misty exclaimed. “He’s already more rabid than a pack of street dogs fighting over a dead chicken. I don’t want to imagine what it’ll be if he finds something real to blame me for.”

“Way you’re doing these days, he’s not about to.”

“That wankstain is always on the lookout for the day I slip up and make a real mistake. I’m getting tired of constantly having to watch myself,” she complained. “Everyone knows he’s a selfish prick, how is he still holding this position?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Misty. He’s got the seniority, that’s how things work at the Guild. Maybe you just have to accept it.”

Getting her own argument from her conversation with Gabriel turned against her had a particular sting.

“Or just outlive him.”

She had not noticed Griffin walking up to the counter.

“The man’s in his fifties and drinks like three sailors,” he pursued. “With any luck, he won’t survive the winter.”

“You won’t live long either the day these guys realize you’re playing with loaded dice,” Misty retorted.

“They won’t notice crap,” he assured. “The secret is to let them win early, and when they get confident…” He knocked on the counter. “That’s when you get them.”

“I hope you didn’t pluck them dry,” Abigail warned. “They still have to pay their drinks.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been merciful.” He dropped three coins on the counter, picked two apples from a basket and lobbed one at Misty. “Let’s go upstairs, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

She climbed the stairs behind him up to the roof. They carefully treaded on the clay tiles and sat side to side on the edge of the building. A radiant sun illuminated the pier underneath them. They remained quiet a few moments, watching the ships moving in and out of the port and the merchants pushing their carts along the docks.

“I think I would like that, you know?” Misty said before biting into her apple. “Travelling the sea. Seeing new places.”

“You? Nah,” Griffin dismissed. “You love this city too much. You’d miss it.”

“Yeah, you may be right.”

She lied down on her back. The sunbathed tiles warmed her skin through her vest. A flock of seagulls flew above their head, their strident chirps covering the voices of the fishermen down below. Misty ate the last bit of her apple and threw the core onto the street.

“So what is it you wanted to discuss?” she asked.

“I’ve got an idea,” Griffin announced.

“Oh no, not again,” Misty sneered.

“Hey! My ideas turn out great!”

“Sure they do. Once in a blue moon.”

“Robbing the baron was my idea!”

“Yes, it was,” Misty conceded. “And so was Dr Otleeb’s store...”

“That was one time!”

“The warehouse on Fifth…”

“They didn’t catch us!”

“Miss Starcrossed’s pearls…”

“Alright!” He raised his hands defensively. “You made your point. But this one is actually good!”

“Promises, always promises…” She winked at him. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

He leaned forward, smiling cunningly. “You must have heard of the Grey Raven.”

“Yes. Terrible thief name.”

“You’re one to talk, ‘Claws’! Anyway. Do you know what he’s done?”

“Everyone knows it. He’s the only one who—" She stopped. “Wait.” She stared at Griffin. Twinkles played in his eyes. “No way.”

“Yes way!”

“Oi! You’re bloody insane if you think we can pull that off!”

“He’s done it!”

“Once! Seventy years ago! No one has done it since!”

“Come on, Misty, show a little ambition!” he exclaimed. “We both know we're that good!”

“Did you just—?” She laughed. “Man, I know you have a high opinion of yourself, but you’re talking about breaking into the Imperial Vault! That's way beyond ‘a little ambition’.”

He gave her a side glance. “Only if we fail.”

She scoffed again. “Yeah, right.”

“Hey.” He hit her in the shoulder. “You miss ten out of ten opportunities you don't take.”

“What makes you even think there’s an opportunity?”

“I have an informant,” he whispered like a conspirator. “Someone from the inside.”

Misty tilted her head disbelievingly. “Like Hells you do.”

“An imperial guard. He was thrown out for drinking on the job.”

“Some sodden drunk told you he’s been inside the palace, and you believed him?”

“I’m not saying—" He stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, just meet the guy, forge your own opinion. What’s the harm?”

Misty simply shrugged. “Fine, I’ll humor you. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Last I saw him, he reeked of cheap booze,” Griffin said while standing up, “So you might have to.”


	6. The Herald's Spark

“It’s an old one.”

Llianah quickly read through the manuscript.

“I can see that. Last one was eight centuries ago?”

“Morgann of Keeda,” Liv confirmed. “She was the fourth. She led the 63rd generation.”

Llianah handed Kathleen a dog-eared page picturing a charcoal drawing of an armored woman holding an axe cloaked in flames and a banner floating in the wind, with fire embracing her arms and shoulders like a burning mane.

“She does look like our sister here,” Llianah pointed at the blaze. “What are her attributes?”

“On first read, it seems like a battle ability, through and through,” Hilda explained, pointing at another page.  “But there is more to it. The scriptures describe her as ‘A burning symbol, bringer of truth’. Conversely, other texts name her ‘omen of destruction’.”

“Omen?”

“Every apparition of the Herald’s spark was followed by intense conflict. The first, Reenia, was even chosen right before the Deucluean Civil Insurrection. There is a distinct pattern.”

“I’m bringing… destruction?” asked Kathleen, faintly shaking.

“I doubt that's the right interpretation,” Llianah intervened. “Sparks aren’t random. They answer a need. The choosing of the Enkindled Herald merely tells us that a fight is near, not that you’ll be its cause.”

“Is there anything about me besides impending doom?” Kathleen whispered in a tiny voice.

“Oh yes,” Liv reassured her. “The part about truth is very literal. Morgann was instrumental in one of our greatest victories against the Void Cult.”

“What does it have to do with truth?”

“The cultists rely on secrecy, lies, fallacy. They are rattlesnakes, ambushed underground, waiting for an opportunity to strike a deadly blow before returning into hiding. Back then, they ruled over an immense tentacular network, had informers and spies over the entire continent. Morgann exposed them all. She followed a string to the web, level by level, up to their highest ranks, and uncovered their entire organisation.”

“How?” Llianah asked. “They’re zealots. We tried interrogating them, it never got us anywhere.”

“That’s the thing. You don’t hide the truth from the Herald. She uncovered everything, and our order burned through them like a wildfire in a pine forest. They were never heard of again until over a century later.”

“Cockroaches,” Llianah spat.

Kathleen appeared surprised by the sudden animosity. “Wait, you mean they are still active?”

“Very much so. Their prophecy isn’t accomplished.”

“But they caused a cataclysm! How can they still believe in it?”

“Fanaticism breeds the deepest delusions,” Llianah replied, a hint of acrimony in her voice. “They can’t be reasoned with. Better women than us have tried and failed. Our world needs to die for their heaven to be born, such is their belief. What’s a few thousand corpses in the face of eternal salvation?”

Kathleen was at loss for words, disarray painted on her face. “How do you even fight someone like that?”

Liv gave a sad smile. “With violence.”

Kathleen stayed silent a moment, hesitant. “I’m not sure I can do that,” she confessed.

“You will,” Liv promised, comforting. “Don’t be too concerned with them just yet. Focus on yourself. Let us worry about our foes for now.”

“Sorry.” Kathleen rubbed her eyes. “It’s just a little more life-changing news in these last three days than I'm comfortable with.”

“Back on topic,” Llianah called. “We know most violent emotions trigger the spark. That's common. But how does she use it? What strengthens it?”

“Passion, determination, confidence. Doubt will undermine her control and disperse her strength.”

“And how much stronger can she get?”

“You mean how much hotter.” She turned a few pages. “According to Morgann’s diary, the Herald’s power can burn through thick wood, leather, even bone, stone and metal, given time.”

“Is there anything in there on how to not burn everything by accident?” Kathleen asked.

“You better hope so,” Hilda stressed. “Morgann described her spark as ‘a sharp weapon for the capable wielder, an unforgiving blaze to the careless.’”

“What does it mean?”

“It means you have a lot to learn, and it means until you do, you're not stepping foot in the archives. I’ll be taking this back. History lesson is over.” Hilda grabbed the papers from their hands and walked away.

“I don't think she likes me very much,” Kathleen noted, saddened.

“Don't take it personally, love,” Liv comforted her. “She's not the friendliest among us. Old wounds.”

“What happened to her?”

Liv shook her head. “That's her story to tell.”

“Enough stories,” Llianah decided. “We should see about your practice.”

“Right now?” Kathleen asked. “Shouldn’t I learn how it works first?”

“We have the basics. Practice is the best teacher. But we need to ask—"

Liao chose that moment to burst into the group.

“I ran into Hilda, but she wouldn’t tell me! You found it? What is she? Does she—”

Llianah put a firm hand over Liao’s mouth and pursued.

“I was saying, we need to ask the Praetor. Her spark resembles yours closely enough, her input will be most valuable.”

“I’m not really looking forward to that,” Kathleen confessed.

“She’s not easy, I’ll give you that much,” Liv admitted. “And I understand your first meeting didn’t fill you with trust. But you have nothing to fear. Even though experience might tell you otherwise.”

“Hey!” Liao had managed to get rid of Llianah’s hand. She flinched slightly under the stern look she gave her. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted,” she apologized. “But don’t leave me hanging! What’s her spark? What can she do?”

“I can see through lies, if I understood it right,” Kathleen explained timidly.

“That’s it?” Liao asked, looking disappointed.

“That’s already pretty big,” Llianah observed. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Something impressive! So the fire is just for show?”

“The last Herald once beheaded a Voidling through three layers of scales with one swing of a flaming axe,” Liv said nonchalantly. “Story says the severed head kept burning for hours.”

“You’re joking. A flaming axe? Killed it in one strike? And you didn’t start with that?”

“That particular Voidling happened to have another head, so technically, that didn’t kill it right away.”

“Who cares? That’s incredible! Should I get you an axe?” Liao asked Kathleen.

“I swear, that girl would be jolly and excited about her own execution if they promised to shoot fireworks,” Llianah sighed. “Take it down a notch, and let’s do things in order.” She turned towards Kathleen. “You need to learn to focus.”

“Oh, here we go…” Liao complained. She leaned towards Kathleen’s ear and whispered, “She can’t shut up about focus.”

“I would if you’d only listen once,” Llianah retorted.

“At any rate, she’s right,” Liv added. “Morgann explains in her manuscript that a dispersed concentration can lead to catastrophic results.”

“Sure,” Kathleen replied nervously. “Who would have thought a power of fire and blaze could be dangerous?”

“Are you always this sarcastic?” Llianah asked.

“Always when I’m scared. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Sorry, or scared?”

“Either,” she replied. “We’re here to help you, but everyone copes in their own way.”

“Okay.” She breathed in slowly. “How do I focus?”

“Oh no, I can’t teach you,” Llianah stopped her.

“What? But you just said…?”

“I said you needed to learn. But I can’t teach you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s a cheater,” Liao grumbled.

Kathleen frowned, puzzled. “Cheater?”

“For the love of… I’m not a cheater, I just…” Llianah protested. “Fine, I’ll just show you.” She took a few steps back and nodded at Liao. “Go ahead.”

The tiny girl leaned down and picked up a  bunch of fallen leaves. With a sharp movement, she threw them towards Llianah’s face and vanished in her distinctive gust of wind. In a flash, she successively materialised in five spots around Llianah and threw as many daggers in her direction. Spinning on herself in a fluid movement, as though she were dancing, the swordmaiden intercepted each blade in the swirl of leaves with flawless precision and threw them all back in a single motion towards a lone tree where they all stuck in a line. The whole scene had taken less than three seconds.

Kathleen jaw dropped, her gaze moving back and forth between Llianah and the tree.

“See?” She hadn’t noticed Liao had reappeared at her side, slightly short of breath. “Cheating.”

“How in the Five Hells did you do that?”

“I focused,” Llianah simply answered.

“I’m going to need a little more details than that. That?” She pointed at the tree. “That was not human.”

“I’m the Will of Iron,” Llianah revealed. “If I keep my mind at peace, I see every detail, every movement, each weakness in your armor, each flaw in your stance. I abandon myself to the battle, and can focus my entire being on the action and understand every move as if I had studied it for hours. I know the specific point an arrow will hit the moment it’s shot, clear as I see you.”

“You can predict attacks?”

“To a point. I don’t know what my opponent thinks. But I will see his eye twitch, his muscles moving. All hints of his intents and tactics.”

“In short: never play cards with her,” Liao advised.

“That, too,” she winked.

“You see everything?” Kathleen insisted. “So you're untouchable?”

“She wishes!” Liao sneered.

“Seeing is not doing, and we're not always facing conventional threats,” Liv tempered. “Sometimes, it’s simply too much to handle.”

“But if we're talking duels, then yes, I'm pretty good,” Llianah confirmed with a smirk.

“I didn’t think Void spawns were the duelist kind,” Kathleen observed, skeptical.

“They aren’t,” Liao approved. “Void cultists? Sometimes.”

“The crazy murderous zealots of a world-ending prophecy follow dueling etiquette?”

“Well, according to their scriptures, it’s world rebirth,” Llianah pointed out. “I guess they see their goal as truly noble… Regardless, quite a few of them discovered the hard way I’m the better blade.”

“So, you mean to say you can't me teach focus… Because you're too good at it?”

“No. I can’t teach focus because it comes naturally to me. I have no idea how it is for you girls. I'd be a terrible teacher.”

“Right.” Kathleen sighed.

“Don’t feel so down about it. Scarmadilla has years of experience.”

"Scarmadilla?”

“The Praetor. It’s her name. Given what we just learned about your spark, I reckon she’ll be the one to teach you. You'll learn a lot.”

“That is, if you survive,” said Liao. “Kidding!” she added when she saw Kathleen’s livid face.

 

* * *

 

 

Kathleen woke up the next day to the light of a flame. She blinked and rubbed her eyes to shake off the remnants of a dream. Liv was crouching beside her bed, a candle in her hand.

“Get up,” she prompted. “The Praetor is waiting for you.”

A tiny shiver of panic ran through Kathleen. “What? Now?”

“Now,” confirmed Liv. She handed her a piece of bread. “You’d better eat a little. You’ll find her on the training grounds. Don’t keep her waiting.”

“You’re not coming?” Kathleen asked as she stood up, her apprehension growing.

“I’ve got tasks of my own.” She tapped her shoulder softly. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” she added before walking away.

Barely reassured, Kathleen dressed herself quickly and scurried through the temple, devouring her frugal breakfast on the way despite the knot in her stomach. She pushed the back door leading to the eastern grounds and stepped outside. Stars were still shining in the sky and a pale red line edged the horizon above the trees, announcing the approach of dawn. First light was less than an hour away.

Fifty steps in front of her, at a good distance from the archery targets she had used the day before, giant stone stairs covered in moss and weed circled a ring of sand. Scarmadilla was there, a short blade in hand, practicing complex attack moves and combinations on a dummy. She had tied her long white braids together and swapped the priestess’ dress for a short, close-fitting outfit of lin and leather, more suited to physical exercise.

Caught up in the flow of her effort, she did not acknowledge Kathleen’s arrival. The girl stood at the edge of the circle, fascinated by the fluidity and the controlled violence of the moves. The blade was dancing in the air, passing from one hand to the other seamlessly, then attacking the target with the suddenness and brutality of thunder strikes. She could discern the powerful muscles playing under the Praetor’s skin, toned by years of training and fighting, as made evident by the number of old scars appearing on her back and arms. A thin layer of sweat covered her exposed shoulders and neck, suggesting she had been at it for some time already.

She completed a last devastating sequence and took a few steps back, then she put her blade away and signaled Kathleen to get down the stairs.

“Good, you’re here.” She gauged the girl with one look. “How long can you run?”

“Run?” She hesitated. “Maybe a mile? What does it have to do with—"

“Don’t ask questions. I’ll explain later. Get started.”

Perplexed, Kathleen climbed back the stairs and started to run at a moderate pace. She was not too used to exercising. Within half a mile, her breath was erratic, and her lungs started to burn. She forced herself to keep going, sneaking a peek towards the training ring every few minutes. She was panting heavily and stumbling when the Praetor finally signaled her to come back. The priestess picked up a water bag hanging from a nearby rack and handed it to Kathleen, who drank avidly and thanked her.

“Come here.” Scarmadilla led her to the western edge of the circle, facing the sunrise. “Take that off,” she added, pointing at the leather pieces protecting her shoulders. “No point in burning anything else.”

“Why the running?” Kathleen asked, still breathing heavily while undoing the straps.

“Exhaustion lowers your inhibitions. Sit.”

Nervous, she sat down at her side. She risked a glance at the Praetor. Her face was mostly severe and inexpressive, although subtle wrinkles on her forehead betrayed undisclosed feelings.

“Are you going to…” she hesitated.

“No, I’m not going to scare you. Not this time. It was an aggressive shortcut that would completely defeat the purpose here. We need you to learn you to access your power on your own.”

Kathleen nodded, relieved. “What do you need me to do, then?”

“Reach in. Something was born within you. You just need to feel it.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She slowly steadied her breathing, listening to the sound of the wind in the trees and the beating of her own heart. The rays of dawn pierced above the treetops and basked them in light. A faint feeling of warmth blossomed in her chest, and an almost imperceptible tremor rushed through her spine.

“I feel something,” she whispered. “It’s… like it’s alive?”

“Keep going. What does it feel like?”

“It wants to reach out…. It yearns to express itself. But at the same time, it’s… afraid?”

“No, it’s not. You are. Let it grow, Kathleen. It’s a part of you, not a tool you would use or possess. You _are_ the Herald.”

With one last shiver of apprehension, the girl yielded to the spark. An intense heat filled her to the bones, scorching yet painless. A feeble line of flames circled her arms, slowly progressing and embracing her shoulders, much unlike the brutal eruption of fire she had experienced the day before. She opened her eyes and looked at the flames dancing over her forearms. She turned toward Scarmadilla . “I did it!” she exclaimed, radiant.

For a second, the priestess looked troubled. She then gave a little nod of approval. “It’s a first step. Well done.”

Kathleen raised her hand and stared at the sparkles playing around her fingers. “What’s next?” she enquired.

“Practice makes perfect, and we need nothing short of that”, the Praetor declared. “I’ll work with you every morning until it feels as natural as breathing.”

She pulled up her blade and placed the handle in Kathleen’s hand.

“Now, let’s take it one step further.”


	7. Raw Magic

“Prick,” whispered Thalia between her teeth.

She reached for a pile of frozen branches, grabbed one and added it to the campfire. The weak flames flickered in the harsh northern wind, their heat barely reaching her no matter how close to the fire she sat. Behind her, her shelter — a crude beast fur held aloft as a simple canopy — was shaken by the freezing gusts, its poor support bent by the weight of the snow and hailstones stuck in its folds.

Fifty feet in front of her, the sorcerer had been splitting logs since sunrise, his impressive arms tirelessly swinging a large lumber axe, seemingly unfazed by the glacial winds. He had not spoken a word in three days, after he threw her outside with two pieces of black bread and the huge bear skin which was now flapping behind her back.

He picked up the chunks of wood and aligned them on the side of the refuge, tossed his tool on top of the pile, then grabbed the last intact log and walked straight to her. Without a word, he dropped it in front of her campfire and sat on the improvised seat. Thalia stared at him, unsure of what to expect. He pulled a piece of dried beef from his furs along with a large knife he used to cut himself a bit.

“One rule”, he stated, chewing slowly. “You don’t hide anything from me. Your attempts, your ideas, plans, schemes, your successes and your failures. You tell me everything.”

Thalia added a few more branches to the dying fire. “What makes you so certain there will be failures?” she asked, irked.

“Don’t let vanity blind you again. You will fail, many times. It does not matter. If you survive, if you endure, if at the end of the road you are the one left standing over the corpses of your foes, it will not matter how many times you failed before.”

She nodded silently, resolute.

“Now that we are in agreement, tell me about this vengeance of yours.”

She looked away. “I lost someone. Details are irrelevant.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

It was not a threat, but in his tone as stiff as ice, it might as well have been one.

She inhaled slowly. “Fine,” she yielded. “I had a sister.”

“Older? Younger?”

“Twin.” Despite her best efforts to appear calm and poised, she could not help the faint quivering of her chin nor the shadow that took over her eyes.

The man nodded, understanding. “Nothing hurts like family. What happened?”

“She got mixed in with an organisation.” She spat on the ground. “A cult, really. They talked of a better world, of prophecies, of unity. They dangled dreams of greatness in front of her eyes, and she fell for it. They spent years feeding her lies, used her in pursuit of their twisted goals, until it finally killed her.”

“And these cultists are the targets of your revenge?”

“Yes,” she hissed between her teeth. “I think I have told you enough. Can we get to it?”

The man shook his head. “Girl, you need to learn some patience.”

“I’ve been patient for a long time. I stayed four years at the College, all for shreds of power. I’m done waiting. If you can help me expand my gift, then just point me in the right direction.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Why, you think I don’t have what it takes?” she asked aggressively.

“You’re all about power, aren’t you?” the pariah observed. “Pure, unaltered power! Well I’m telling you that’s horseshit. Raw power will not get you very far if that is all you can think about. The actual strength of your gift isn’t nearly as important as you believe. The sooner you learn that, the better.”

“That’s not—"

“What is it you expected to find here?” he cut, his voice rolling like a rockslide. “If you think you can train and train some more until your magic becomes an unrelenting force capable of blasting away any foe you face with just a snap of your fingers, you are sorely mistaken. The power you have now is all you have, all you’ll ever have. It cannot and will not expand.”

“Then if I cannot get stronger, what is the damn point?”

“You will get stronger. You! Not your power. A swordsman doesn’t get better by sharpening his blade, but by honing his own skills, allowing him to hit faster, more strongly, with more precision. Arm a dilettante with the best sword in the realm, he will still get gutted in an instant against a master wielding nothing but a butter knife. Skill and technique are what matters most. We’re no different.”

Taken aback, Thalia stayed silent.

“What do you know of magic?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I was born with it. I’ve been practicing it for years. I think I know quite a bit.”

“Good, so you’ll be able to follow.”

He leaned back and cut himself another bite of meat.

“Magic is volatile in essence,” he stated. “Given the opportunity, it will always choose the path of most destruction.”

“I know that. It’s a first year lesson. The dangers of overflowing.”

“Precisely. What do you know of the three vectors? “

“Again, it's the basics of safety. Bring forth the magic, steady the flow, and aim into a spell.”

The man stroked his beard. “When your goal is power, you ought to forego the second one entirely,” he said.

Thalia blinked twice. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do not steady your flow. Let it surge.”

“Is that your idea of a joke? This—”

“This goes against everything you have ever been taught, yes,” he confirmed calmly. “I am aware.”

“So why?”

“Every ounce of your strength that is dedicated to balancing your magic isn't being used to fortify it. So instead of holding back for a clean and even spell, push forward. Take advantage of the magic’s will to destroy. You'll achieve a crude, more explosive result, one that will be incrementally tougher on you, but exponentially more powerful. Basically, this method consists of using a modicum of energy to flare up magic, let it rush through you, then strive with all your might to push it in the intended direction. Control, but do not contain. Direct, but never hold back.”

Thalia looked at him with wide eyes, incredulous. “That’s utterly reckless. Not to mention awfully dangerous!”

“Yes, it is,” he nodded. “Sounds like something only someone truly desperate would attempt.”

“I’m not—“

“You sought out the mentorship of a known murderer. It’s a little late to worry about danger, I would say.”

He stood up and walked to a huge boulder encased in ice, half buried in the mountainside. He pointed at the rock. “This is your foe,” he declared. “Kill it.”

She went to him and raised her hand towards the boulder, hesitating. “What if I can’t control it? What if it kills me?”

He sighed imperceptibly. “Then I’ll throw your body into the valley, vultures will devour it, and I’ll return to my own affairs. Stop thinking. Kill.”

Thalia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She raised her fist to her lips and whispered a name, then extended her hand towards the rock again and called internally to her gift. The familiar feeling of magic being created filled her chest. Against her first impulse, she let it grow and expand, feeding greedily on her strength, then, tentatively, she nudged the mass of power onward. Immediately, the huge flow of magic rebelled fiercely and rushed through her, brutally shaking her immaterial strings. Desperately, she threw herself into an inner wrestle with the raw power she had birthed. The pain of her broken ribs flared in her chest. The sorceress ignored it and assailed the wild stream of magic, unabatedly. Striving to direct the tidal wave of surging power, Thalia regained ground by the skin of her teeth, and finally thrust forward with a scream of rage.

Snow and ice burst violently from the tip of her fingers. A loud crack echoed between the trees. A conspiracy of ravens flew away towards the mountaintop, cawking noisily.

Sudden freezing pain exploded in Thalia’s hand. Thousands of invisible icy needles pierced her forearm from her elbow to the tip of her fingers. Sharp lesions appeared on her white skin, like wounds left by glacial claws. She grabbed her trembling, agonizing wrist and gritted her teeth, doubled over. Not one sound passed the frontier of her lips.

After long seconds of excruciating pain, the freezing cold receded and vanished. Panting, she rose up, opened her eyes and looked at her hand. A few distinct purplish streaks circled her forearm. She looked around for the pariah. He had only moved a few steps and was standing over the boulder. He turned around, grabbed her damaged arm and examined her skin, then nodded in appreciation.

“It hurts,” he acknowledged. “But the more control you will get, the easier it will be. At any rate, you’ll heal.”

He let go of her hand and stepped aside, revealing the boulder. The rock had been split open in six parts, with so much strength it had fractured the ice surrounding it, like a crossbow bolt hitting a glass window.

“He won’t.”


	8. A Matter Of Trust

“That’s him?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Bloody souls.”

Misty turned on her heels and walked back the way they came from. Griffin’s hand caught her by the shoulder.

“Hey! Where are you—”

“No, look at him, Griffin. He looks healthy as a dead rat, and stinks twice as bad. He’d say anything for a drop of rum. Imperial Guard, my arse.”

“You said you’d listen to him. Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Not _that_ deceiving.”

“He just fell on hard times. You know how it is, the bigger they think they are... You should sympathise.”

“Fell down straight to the bottom of a keg, you mean. I do sympathise, but it doesn’t mean I should believe one word that comes out of his mouth.”

“Come on. Just try. Please.” He stared at her with insistence.

She sighed loudly. “If that’s what it takes to make you stop looking at me like some stray puppy...”

She turned back towards the beggar. His appearance was, indeed, beyond pitiful. Wrapped in the rotten remains of a blanket, he was sprawled on the ground under a footbridge. A distinctive smell of cheap whiskey and urine exuded from his prostrated figure, blended in a deeply pungent bouquet, and a loud snore was ringing out of his swollen nose.

Griffin approached him and cleared his throat loudly, interrupting the raucous breathing. An unintelligible mumbling escaped the beggar’s lips. He raised his head and batted his eyelids.

“Hey, Alph. Remember me?” Griffin asked.

“You… Oh. Blondie,” he grumbled and dragged himself up a few inches, just enough to reach a vague sitting position. “What do you want this time?”

“I want to talk about your old job.”

“Again?” he whined. “It ain’t good memories. And you already know about it.”

“My friend here wants specifics.” Griffin pointed his thumb at Misty and dropped three little bronze coins in the man’s filthy palm.

“Well then. What does the missus want to know?” Alph enquired, suddenly enticed.

Misty shot him an ambiguous glance.

“You’re the one who pretends to have been part of the Imperial Guard?”

“Pretends? Heavens no, m’lady. I was in, high and mighty as them all. Shiny armor and blue cape, all of it.”

“Right. Alph, is it? Blue cape, you say. What was your rank?”

“Suspicious, are you? Third flag.”

“Unit?”

“Spearhead.”

“Name of your commanding officer?”

“Captain Astereen.”

“How many wings?”

“The Guard doesn’t award wings.”

Misty squinted.

“You believe me yet?” the beggar asked.

“Getting there. When do you say you got kicked out?”

He groaned. “Four months ago.”

“And how well do you remember your time there?”

“All too well.”

She pinched her chin.

“Come on, Misty, that’s more than enough,” Griffin intervened.

“Not to me. I need to be sure to even consider it.” She pointed her finger at the beggar’s face. “One more question, and I expect details.”

“Then I expect money,” he grinned.

Griffin looked at Misty, shrugged and dropped three more coins in his hand.

“Alright,” Misty started. “The palace stables near the southern wall. What’s the exact guard shift for it?”

“What do you need that for?” Griffin wondered, a confused look on his face.

“Not now, Grif. Alph?”

“Wait a second, will you? I’m trying to think.” He scratched his bristly scalp. “Four men during daytime, two at the front, two at the back. Only one of each at night. Shifts are rung from the big horn on the southeast tower at dawn, noon, and sundown. Last one is at night, when they light the red torches. The guards taking over always make a full patrol around the stables before taking position.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

She walked away. Griffin scurried after her, still puzzled.

“What was that about?” he asked. “Who cares about the stables? We’re not stealing horses!”

“The southern wall, Grif. The clock tower overlooks that part.”

“So what?”

“So we can climb it tonight, watch the guard shifts and see if he wasn’t pulling facts out if his underpants.”

He scoffed. “You really aren’t a trusting girl, you know that?”

“I trust what I can see, feel or hear. Not your gut feeling. No offense.”

“None taken. You’re the planner. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

* * *

  
  
“You know, it’ll be faster if you just move to the north side.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Misty grumbled.

She jammed her foot in a crack left by a broken brick and pushed on her legs to grab the lower part of a large circular frame.

“You should be,” Griffin continued, already comfortably seated on the top of the tower. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re up against the  clock.”

“I don’t—” she stopped climbing and looked at the giant hour hand hanging above her. “Really? You should be ashamed of that one.”

She swiftly finished her ascension, reached the tiled roof and sat at his side.

“You must have talons on your fingers, man. Climbing that fast isn’t human.”

“It’s in my blood,” he smiled.

He pulled a flask from his satchel, drank a gulp and handed it to Misty. She sniffed its contents.

“You used to keep brandy in there. What is it?”

“Hydromel. Brandy’s too strong for a night out. We can’t risk dozing off or missing a step.”

Misty hit him lightly in the shoulder. “Look at you, turning all serious and reasonable!”

“I blame you for that, Misty. That’s your damn influence.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said mockingly.

She took a long sip and gave him the flask back. On their left, the sun was almost set on the ocean, the clouded sky ignited in a crimson red veil over the late fishing boats hurrying for the port. Misty looked to her right. The moon was slowly rising off the horizon, gleaming its silver light on the tiled rooftops of the city. She lowered her gaze to the other side of the wall. The stables building, although very respectable in size, was humbled by the immensity of the imperial palace — five towers as slender as arrows flanking one massive pentagonal stronghold, with typical blue and silver Silurian sails hanging over the tan colored stone walls. Each of the three floors above the first was pierced all around with square windows  which offered, on demand, either a pleasant view of the gardens or an ideal shooting position. A wide circular sunroom had been built on the center of the roof, paved with tinted glass panels and sheltered under a roof of blue tiles held by a delicate scaffolding of sculpted oak. The building appeared large enough to accomodate an entire garrison.

“To think no more than three dozen highborns are ever housed in there while half of Lowtown rots in the streets,” Misty hissed between her teeth.

“So much hate is bad for your soul, Misty. They ain’t worth it.”

“I just want to see them thrown over those perfect walls, that’s all.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in change?”

“I don’t. Still fun to imagine.”

She resumed her observation of the stables. On each side of it, east and west, two guards were standing, still as statues in silver and white armor, their sky blue capes clearly visible from the distance they were looking.

“Four of them,” Griffin observed.

“I saw. This part was easy. The patrol is what matters.”

A short and loud horn sound echoed over the walls. Griffin pointed at the square building which seemed to be the garrison, adjacent to the northern wall. Two silhouettes in shining armor had appeared at the front door and were walking at a rapid pace. They stopped briefly in front of the stables, apparently exchanged a few words, then began walking around the building.

Griffin crossed his arms. “Looks like he knew what he was talking about.”

“Looks like it,” Misty agreed, stroking her chin, still focused on the patrolling guards. Their pace was rigid and soldierly, but not hastened. Her eyes turned to the gardens. From above, they formed a delicate composition, a mosaic of flower beds. But from the ground, the hedgerows were rising above the head of the average man, and would deny visibility almost as well as a solid wall. The vegetation stopped fifty steps before the keep’s walls, making way for a pavement of white stones. The building itself was polished like a slate tile and offered no gripping surface. She squinted. Every window of the second and third floor was barred, however, the large balconies on the southwest side were completely open, albeit apparently unreachable.

Griffin gave her a side glance, a conniving smile stretched on his face. “I know that look.”

“Do you, now?” she retorted, impassive.

“You’re looking for entrances, counting the heads and memorizing the angles. You want to do it, don’t you?”

She bit her lip and did not answer, eyes fixed forward.

“Come on, Misty.”

She finally turned to him and looked him in the eye. “If your friend remembers enough of his time inside…”

“He does.”

“If I can put together a viable plan with his intel…”

“I’m confident you can.”

“If you’re willing to follow said plan to the letter and not improvise shit on the spot...”

“You have my word.”

“Then we might have a shot at this,” she completed.

“Ha!” Griffin threw a fist in the air with a victorious cry.

Misty shook her head. “I’m serious, Grif. We can’t go in there half-cocked. We do this at our best, or not at all.”

“Oh, I am, too, deadly serious about this!” he exclaimed. He held her hand forward. “I promise, Misty, you and I, we can accomplish anything. We can beat the Grey Raven. We can become legends.”

She hesitated. There were a thousand ways this could go horribly wrong, yet all of these concerns weighted next to nothing against the appeal of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, or Griffin’s overly enthusiastic behavior. An irrepressible smirk lightened her face as she grabbed his offered hand. “To becoming legends, then.”


	9. The Lessons of History

The mallet struck the chisel with a metallic sound. Liv dropped her tools on the table, swept strands of blond hair away from her eyes and leaned over the bronze tile to inspect the result. It was an ancient piece, worthy of careful and meticulous craftsmanship. One missed strike would weigh heavy on her conscience.

“How come you’re so often by the forge?” she asked over her shoulder.

Behind her, Kathleen was sitting on a workbench beside the fire, her back to the wall, knees pulled against her chest.

“I like it here,” she replied. “It’s secluded, warm. You don’t talk much. And the sound of hammering is soothing.”

“Soothing, huh?” Liv gave two more precise hits on the slate. “People rarely say that.”

“I used to rent a room from a blacksmith. I’m used to falling asleep to that sound. It’s a nice break from practice.”

“How is that going? Three weeks now. The Praetor says you’re making good progress.” 

“I'm learning,” Kathleen replied, evasive.

“Yes, I know you are, but that's not what I asked.”

She hesitated. 

“Kate, you can talk to me. I’m not judging.”

“It’s the way she addresses me. It’s not just cold, or even harsh. It’s… hurt. Like it pains her to teach me.”

Liv pinched her lips. “I thought that might happen. It was the same with Liao, at first. The arrival of new recruits is hard on her.”

“Not with you?”

“No, I was chosen… Before.”

“Before what?”

Liv sighed. “Not the best time, love. Sorry.”

She grabbed a clean rag and started rubbing the tile. Kathleen got up from the bench and went to the priestess’ side to observe the huge slab of bronze. Engravings detailing a battle scene filled the entire surface. The object had been broken once, as made obvious by the fresh solder line that ran right in the middle. 

“What is that?” 

“Repair work,” she explained. “One of the tiles fell down and broke.”

“One? There are others?”

“You've never entered the naos?”

“I wasn’t sure it was permitted,” the girl said timidly. 

“Well,” Liv said, lifting the giant piece like it was made of wood, “Here’s your chance.”

Kathleen followed her up the stairs to the great hall, watched her push the door to the sacred chamber and went through. 

On a marble pedestal stood a statue of a woman in a full suit of armor, human sized, exquisitely crafted. Sculpted from a white veiny rock, she held a large shield and a long spear, a defiant expression on her noble face. A circle of seventeen oil torches hanging from the ceiling illuminated the room, revealing rows of golden tiles all over the walls. On each of these, cast in metal, stories of battles, revelations and mysterious events were retold. 

Liv smiled at her dazzled expression, then walked to the south wall where she lifted the repaired slab and slid it in the only empty space with a loud clunk. Llianah walked in behind them. She was wearing her training outfit, her long silver hair was tied in a tight single braid, and the rosy coloration of her usually fair cheeks hinted that she had been exercising. She leaned back against the wall and gave an appreciative glance.

“Nice work,” she said. 

Kathleen approached the statue and examined it with reverence. Even to her inexperienced eye, the sculpture looked incredibly detailed, though clearly ancient and visibly not immune to the effects of time.

“Is that Æmeryl?” 

“No, she is never represented as a fighter,” Liv replied. “This is the Shield of Dawn. Adrianne.”

“That's the name of her spark, right?”

“Yes. The first and only. There has never been another one like her.”

“For now,” Llianah added. 

“For now,” Liv agreed. “I pity the girl who’ll inherit that power, though. These are titanic shoes to fill.”

Kathleen knelt down before the rows of bronze and browsed the graphic narrative. Unlike the statue, the tiles varied wildly in appearance, and the artistic style was irregular, changing from one scene to the next. The material itself showed subtle difference in its composition, in the way it reflected the light of the torches. It was likely many different artisans had worked successively over the years, maybe over centuries. A surprising detail caught her eye. 

“You girls mounted  _ giant tigers _ ?”

“Rillian prowlers,” Liv explained. “It was an old tradition. It started during the 26th generation, and died around the 75th.”

Kathleen shook her head. “Why, though? What’s wrong with horses? Is it really worth going all the way south to the Rillian Islands?”

“Even well trained, horses easily panic when facing spawns of the Void,” Llianah pointed out. “Prowlers never do. Additionally, they’re better mounts on difficult terrain, and can even climb cliffs, so they are best suited for our hunts. Of course, the difficulty of taming a predator like that and keeping it fed doesn’t even compare with horses. Probably why the tradition was abandoned.”

Kathleen gave an understanding nod and pursued her study of the engravings. 

“You needed something?” Liv asked Llianah. 

“Yes. How did your last experiment turn out?”

“See for yourself.”

She pulled a short knife from her belt and handed it to Llianah. She weighed it carefully and launched it in the air a few times. The light of the torches played on the blade and reflected upon the iridescent surface of the metal.

“Not bad,” she approved. “She’ll like it.”

“It’s for Liao? Be careful, she might imagine things,” Liv winked.

Llianah rolled her eyes. “It’s just a knife.”

“I’ve never seen a blade like that,” Kathleen said, impressed. 

“It’s made from a purified Void shard,” Liv disclosed.

“They can be melted down? I thought they just became worthless stones.” 

Liv had an enigmatic smile. “I’m the Anvil’s Heart.”

“Oh.” Kathleen observed the knife again. “And what does this blade do? Is it stronger than regular steel? Sharper?”

“No. Bring that in a duel, your only advantage is it looks pretty. Where it truly shines — figuratively — is against voidlings. This metal burns through their flesh like a red-hot steel blade.”

“So all your weapons are made with it?” 

“They were,” Llianah deplored. “But we simply don't have enough shards for that nowadays. Our blades have just enough to ensure the wounds we inflict them don’t heal right away.”

“Voidlings heal that fast? How did you ever manage without Void shard blades?”

“Well, first, we never really had to,” she explained. “The Anvil Heart was one of the first sparks. Since our beginnings, there has almost always been one among us. As I told you, a choosing answers a need. Second, some of us have very offensive powers, and don’t really need to rely on anything else.”

“That’s you,” Liv said. “Scarmadilla, too.”

“What is Scarmadilla’s spark?” Kathleen asked. “Wait, that’s not rude to ask, is it?”

“No.” Liv exchanged a look with Llianah. “She’s the Sunburst Fury,” she revealed, a hint of reverence in her voice.

“And… What does that imply?”

Llianah let out a slight chuckle. “It means if Ulric Stillbone and Druun the Blooded had had a lovechild, that man would be terrified of Scarmadilla.”

Kathleen made a grim face. “If that was intended to make me feel safer, it didn’t work.”

“It should, though,” Liv said. “Trust me, there is no one you’d rather have at your side on a rainy day.”

“Since we’re on the subject of sparks,” Llianah interrupted, “You need to go see Hilda. She’s uncovered more records for you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The door to the archives was wide open.

“Hilda?” Kathleen called.

A voice answered from the far end of the room. “What do you want?”

She walked between the stone shelves covered in dusty scrolls and books, and found a small door, sunk in an alcove, ajar. She gave two knocks on the panel.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but Llianah said you found new helpful information on the Herald’s spark?”

“I did. Come in.”

“Do you think it could… Wow.” She pushed the door and stopped, stunned by the surreal appearance of the room. Rows of glass jars full of unknown substances, liquids and powders, severed animal limbs or sometimes entire tiny corpses floating in the bottles stamped with illegible labels. From the ceiling hanged bundles of dried leaves, roots and feathers. In the west corner, on a workbench, a bunch of nonhuman bones lay, abandoned with precision tools and old knives. Most of the north wall was occupied by an enormous bird skull hanging from the support beam, so colossal the beak alone was almost as big as Kathleen. A bittersweet smell of burned plants filled the entire place. Hilda was leaning over a second desk, busy with the engraving of cabalistic symbols on a gigantic vertebra.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch anything,” she grumbled.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kathleen agreed, astonished. “What is this all for?”

“Witchcraft.”

Kathleen recoiled slightly, hesitated, then looked around a second time. “You’re a  _ witch _ ?”

Hilda sighed. “City girl.” She dropped the bones and tools to turn and face Kathleen.

“Yes, I’m a witch. No, I don’t drink virgin blood or eat unborn babies.”

“I didn't say that!” 

“I know your type. You believed that kind of nonsense. Didn't you?”

“I… Yes,” she admitted. “But I'm learning that a lot of what I was taught isn’t true. I didn't mean to reject you.”

“You wouldn't have been the first,” Hilda muttered between her teeth, resuming her work.

“What is this even from?” Kathleen asked, pointing at the massive skull.

“Rokh-bird,” Hilda replied, laconic.

“Why do you have it?” 

“Magic consumes lifeforce,” she explained reluctantly. “Sorcerers can use their own. Witches use what is left of it in blood, flesh and bones. There is a lot of power to be harnessed from the remains of a creature that ancient.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

She raised a surprised eyebrow and glanced over her shoulder. “You're asking me how I became a witch?”

“Like you said, it’s not a very respectable path to walk. I can't imagine you stumbled upon it by accident.”

“Funny. No one ever asks me that. It’s always ‘how do you handle being so hated’, or ‘why the tattoos.’”

“To be honest, those were my next questions,” Kathleen confessed. 

She caught the glimmer of a smile on Hilda’s face for the faintest instant. “I wanted to be left alone,” the witch related, “and to be capable enough so I wouldn't have to rely on others. So, in a twofold paradoxical way, I went to the one person I knew who had already achieved both. She taught me.”

“Did you get what you wanted?” 

“Close, but not quite. Turns out rumors spread faster than pox and as soon as you get a shred of power, however despised its origin is, peasants flock to your door begging for favors. Of course, that doesn't mean they are grateful after the fact. You wouldn't believe how fast one can go from ‘Please, save my dying wife’ to ‘I never want to see you again.’ I don't really remember a time before I was hated and shunned, so the answer to your second question is probably ‘habit.’ Lastly, tattoos are spells, and no, I'm not telling you what they are for.”

“Who was that person who taught you?” 

“I shared more than enough for today.” She picked up a scroll from her desk. “Here. I found a written testimony from the third Herald. I haven’t had the time to translate it on paper, so you’ll have to take notes. Grab a quill and follow.”

 

* * *

 

“Have you got it?”

Kathleen finished writing the last sentence and put the quill down. “I think so.” She muffled a yawn. 

What she thought would be a simple retranscription exercise had turned into a full research amongst old scrolls and tablets, in languages she had never heard of. They had been at it for hours, decrypting fragments of text and putting together uneven stories. Across from Kathleen, on the other side of the table, Hilda filled her mug with a dark liquid. A strong sour smell was flowing from the kettle.

“What’s this?” Kathleen asked.

“Berries decoction. Keeps me awake. You wouldn’t like it.” Hilda gulped it down and poured herself another mug. “Let’s go over it again, make sure you understood. I don’t want to have to come back to it later. What did you learn from this?”

“The third Herald says it’s like… Carving a path of flames through memories. Going too fast burned them away before she could feel them.”

“Right,” she nodded. “What does that tell you?”

“That I should be cautious?”

“Patient,” she corrected. “Go slow, take your time. You can’t rush it. Continue.”

Kathleen looked at her transcript again. “She describes the consequences of a mishandling. The victims suffered from amnesia, or went insane.” She made a grim face. “Or died.”

“Yeah,” Hilda groaned. “And I thought burning down my books was the worse you could do, but turns out I was far from it. That’s a dangerous power you’ve been gifted with.”

“Believe me, I’m the most worried about it, ” Kathleen approved eagerly.

“Good. What else?”

“She says at first she only saw memories, but with practice, she learned to hear, feel and smell them.”

“I’m not sure I see the use beyond sight and sound,” Hilda observed. “Vital information will be there. How did she learn?”

Kathleen reviewed her notes. “Some sort of… meditation? There.” She pointed at a scribbled text. “ _ The more I practiced revisiting my own memories, the more proficient I became at extracting one from a foreign mind without damaging it, _ ” she read.

“Alright,” Hilda approved, leaning back. “I think you’ve got it.”

Kathleen sighed in relief and gathered the documents. She stood up and offered Hilda a smile full of gratitude. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

Hilda raised a surprised eyebrow, then shrugged off the praise. “Sure, welcome. Just doing my part. I don’t want your spark blowing up in our faces like an untrained fire sorcerer. You can thank me by learning all of this well enough so you can actually start contributing.”


	10. Prey

The pariah’s staff broke through the immaculate frost, sinking in a dozen inches before finding more solid ground. It was the first sunny day after an entire week of constant snowfall, yet his progression was barely hindered by the snow raised almost up to his knees.

Behind him, however, Thalia was struggling to follow, the pain of her wounds making her wince at every step. The mere three weeks of rest he had granted her was far from enough for a complete recovery, and the long walk had exerted her damaged ribs. Indifferent to her suffering, the sorcerer kept moving at a steady pace.

“Tell me more about this cult.”

“What about it?” she replied.

He halted and leaned back against the trunk of a tree. A wolf howled in the distance. Many others answered him.

“You intend to destroy it. What is your plan?”

Thalia stopped, out of breath, a surprised look on her face. “My plan?”

“Yes, your plan. What do you know about them? Who are them? Where are them? What are their resources, their strengths, weaknesses? Do they have allies, foes? Has anyone tried to take them down before? How is it that you plan to attack them exactly?”

She shook her head. “I just need to find them.”

“You’re wrong, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come here.”

“I’m only here to ensure I’m strong enough to take them down when I finally get to them.”

“And how is it that you intend to get to them?”

“That’s my concern,” she spat.

“Wrong again.” He pulled a flask from his belt and drank from it, then wiped the droplets stuck in his beard on his sleeve. “Everything you do is my concern.”

Thalia sat down on a stump. “Why do you need to be informed of my strategy?” she asked.

“Whether I’m aware of it is not up for debate. I’m saying you need to have one. You need to choose your steps carefully , on every scale. Not just in the middle of a battle, but when you consider whether to engage or to stay away, for each and every one of your actions. Observe the situation, know what works for or against you . Here, for example.” He planted his staff in the ground. “What can you use to your advantage in this situation?”

She looked at the empty scenery around her. “Snow. My knife. That’s about it.”

“You are injured, and tired from walking all the way here. You don’t have your sword, and not a lot of strength left for spells.”

“I’ll have enough if the need arises.”

“If?”

He raised his chin and stared her down. All color faded from Thalia’s face as she took the full measure of the word’s meaning.

“You see it now,” he nodded. “Danger is coming and you didn’t prepare for it. You let yourself get backed into a corner where you have very limited resources and not enough control over them.”

“I followed you here!” she exclaimed.

“And that was your first mistake,” he retorted, unfazed. “Always assume everyone is out to get you. Trust no one and nothing. When you put your faith in someone, the day they fail you, you have to be twice as good to win the day. Like now.”

She shot him a deadly glance and stood up, alert, watching her surroundings. A violent gust shook the trees and stirred up snowflakes. Without further warning, a thick fog rolled up the hill and swallowed the trees.

“I’m eager to see if and how you survive,” he added before vanishing in the mist.

She gazed around her, awaiting. As fast as it appeared, the fog faded away. A threatening growl came from behind her. She turned around to discover a large wolf circling her slowly, less than fifty paces away. Grey fur, bare fangs, pale blue eyes riveted on Thalia, ready to attack. More distant howls came from between the trees.

“Shit,” Thalia whispered, slowly pulling her knife from her belt.

She took two steps back. The beast dashed towards her. Ninety pounds of muscle and claws running at peak speed. She forced herself to wait and dived down to the side the second the wolf lunged at her. Its sharp fangs met only the air as it flew above her head and tumbled to the ground. She rolled down, stood up on one knee, and planted her left hand on the ground. Snow flew up, melting and wounding around her arm like a drape. In front of her, the wolf had recovered and was charging again. She raised her hand defensively as it bolted at her face and toppled her down. The bite destined for her throat caught her wrist. The beast’s powerful jaws clamped down on two inches of solid ice protecting her arm. With a grunt, Thalia jabbed her knife into the wolf’s neck. Warm blood gushed over her face. A faint groan escaped the animal’s throat. She stabbed and stabbed again until the beast stopped moving and went limp on top of her. Groaning, she pushed the corpse on the side. The sudden effort had awoken the pain from her injuries. Her heavy breath created tiny clouds when leaving her lips. She wiped the blood off her face and rose to her feet.

Her heart missed a beat as she saw four more wolves climbing the hill towards her.

She looked at the wolf’s corpse behind her, then at the knife in her hand. The blade was still dripping with blood. She shook her head slowly, an unsettling combination of rage and desperation taking over her face.

With a scream of anger, she threw her left fist towards the nearest beast. The ice encasing her wrist bolted off her arm as if shot from a ballista. It hit the wolf right in the chest and sent it rolling down the slant. She threw her blade at another, did not see it miss her target as she rushed head-on against a third one. She gripped the wolf’s head in her bare hands as it lunged for her neck. They fell down in the snow in a mess of fur, limbs, and claws. A sudden surge of overwhelming magic rushed through her. Focusing all of her strength, she yelled her rage in the face of the wolf wriggling under her grasp. A flash exploded in her hands. Half the beast’s body froze instantly and its entire head shattered like glass under her palms.

A glacial burn seized her wrists, and new marks blossomed like excruciating leaves on her skin. A heavy weight fell on her back before she had a chance to get up, throwing her face first in the snow. An agonising pain tore through her right shoulder, ripping a scream from her throat. The fourth beast had jumped on her back and had its teeth firmly shanked into her flesh, scraping against the bone. She thrashed about in a vain attempt to shake the wolf off her.

Out of nowhere, a monstrous, ear-splitting shriek blasted through the trees as an indistinct giant black shape dropped from the sky right onto the pack of wolves, throwing snow in every direction. A single animal yelp broke through the chaos of growls, cut short by a morbid sound of crunched bones and ripping flesh.

The wolf on Thalia’s back let go of her shoulder and jumped away. She rolled onto her back to discover the scene.

A humongous bird of prey had landed on the hill and was towering over the fight scene. It looked like a monumental crossbreed of raven and eagle, bearing great feathers as dark as night. Its hulking talons were jabbed deeply into the corpse of a wolf. The monster turned its terrifying yet magnificent amber eyes towards another limping wolf, and in one single move — absurdly nimble given its colossal size — pecked it off the ground like a hawk picks up mice. Still lying down on the ground, Thalia distinctly saw its sharp beak hack the entire beast in two, and half the carcass being swallowed into the bird’s gullet.

Terrified, with deliberate, painfully slow moves, she brought a hand to her chest and called to her magic anew. Ice and snow around her progressively shifted into an intricate web, building a fragile, frozen cocoon over her bloodied body. She heard the wolves running away, and the wide flutter of gigantic wings as a thick layer of hoarfrost obscured her sight.

 

* * *

 

Thalia’s fist pierced through the seemingly untouched snow. She had remained buried for the count of three thousand heartbeats, her wounded shoulder in a throbbing pain barely numbed by the cold. She groaned, pulled herself out of concealment and observed her surroundings. The hill was deserted, but the gruesome remains of the wolves and the blood splattered over the snow bore witness to the past violence. Shivering, she pulled herself up on her feet and limped down the hill in direction of the pariah’s refuge.

It was nearly night when she pushed the door and stumbled into the cabin. A large log was burning in the fireplace. The pariah was there, comfortably sitting in the only chair, his back to the fire. Thalia dropped her coat on the floor and pulled on the neck of her shirt to examine the wound on her shoulder. The wolf’s fangs had bitten deep.

She caught the pariah’s glimpse. “Don’t say it,” she spat. “I’ll heal. I know.”

The man stayed impassive. “What was the lesson?”

“Don’t trust anyone. Least of all _you_.”

“Not that one. What did your encounter demonstrate?”

“That the wild is dangerous and unpredictable? I am not in the mood to play riddles.”

She grabbed a bottle off the mantelpiece, yanked off the cork with her teeth, then poured its contents on her shoulder. She gritted her teeth through the searing pain of the alcohol on her wound.

“What happened to the wolves?”

“They fled.”

“And you?”

“I hid,” she retorted, irked. “What did you expect?”

“You mean you didn’t fight? You didn’t raise up to the challenge and cut down your foe like the heroes of old?”

She put down the bottle and looked at him, confused. “Fight this monstrosity? What the Hells are you on about?”

“So you hid. The coward’s way, a bard would say.”

“To Hells with songs!”

She rummaged through a pile of clothes, grabbed a shirt that appeared reasonably clean and tore it in half. “No one can fight that thing alone!” she hissed, tying the makeshift bandage over her wound. “I survived, that’s what I did.”

“That is demonstrably false, but you got the point regardless. That foe was too powerful for you.” He leaned forward. “There will be more. You can never assume you are the strongest. If you think you are the biggest fish there is, it only means you’re looking no further than your little pond. And the ocean is infinitely larger. There always is a more powerful one.”

“What’s your point?”

“If you cannot beat them, don’t try. Run. Hide. Bide your time and come back at them from behind. Use them. Scheme. Turn them against one another. An upfront battle is but one card in your hand, and playing only this one is a sure way to defeat.”

Thalia shook her head, incredulous. “You’re telling me to avoid battle? You?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Things are rarely what they seem, and legends lie.”

“How much of yours is lies?”

The pariah looked straight at her, his sight cold as the freezing wind outside. “My victories are very real, and that is all that matters.”

She dropped down on a stool. “What’s your angle with this?” she asked. “What’s in it for you? You must want something. Everyone does.”

“You’re right on that account,” he agreed. “But me disclosing my motives is not part of our deal. Let’s just say I’m interested in seeing where your path will lead you.”


	11. A Scheming Mind

“Left, right, then left and… And nothing. Damn it.” Misty grumbled under her scarf.

Her infiltration plan was proving to be more difficult to conceive than she expected. She sighed and sharpened the piece of charcoal she was using to draw with the blade of her knife. The large sheets of paper in front of her showed elaborate hand-drawn maps of the palace gardens, covered in scribbles and rough symbols. Not a single number or letter was to be seen on the plan, yet the complex sketches were extremely clear pictures to her eyes.

She adjusted her old vest and leaned over her map again. The small alcove she had chosen to sit in was on the far end of the tavern, and offered more privacy from unwelcome eyes and ears than her usual table near the window. It was, however, a little far from the roaring fireplace. Though the outside cold was merciful for a day of winter, she still would have liked the heat of the flames warming her back.

“Make way!” Abigail announced.

The sudden call pulled Misty out of her thoughts. She raised her head to see the barmaid approaching, a plate in her hand.

“For someone who can’t read two words, you sure scribble a lot,” Abigail remarked.

“Don’t need no words to draw a map.” She pushed the papers aside to make room for the plate of scrambled eggs Abigail placed on the table. The barmaid caught a glimpse of the sketch before Misty flipped it upside down.

“Big plans, this time?”

Misty shot her a sour glance. “Did Griffin talk to you? Damn it, I told him to keep his mouth shut!”

“Not at all! He’s even surprisingly quiet about… whatever your thing is. You just seem especially cautious, that’s all. Figured it was a little more dangerous than your usual run-of-the-mill robbery.”

“Oh.” She relaxed. “Yeah, a little bit.”

Abigail pointed at the empty chair. “Are you being stood up?”

“No, I’m just early.”

“Who’s your date?”

“Are you jealous, Abby?”

She laughed. “Hun, I don’t have to be jealous, I know I’m your favorite.”

“Are you so certain?” Misty teased. “I happen to have met a Northlander last month, and…”

“Whatever you say. But don’t even think of getting your beer someplace else,” Abigail warned. “That, I wouldn’t forgive.”

“That’s more like you. And it’s not a date, it’s business. I’m waiting for my contact.”

“That stinky vagrant again? How many times do you need to see him?”

“Not too many, I hope. Speaking of which, I’m going to need another bottle today.”

Abigail crinkled her nose. “I’m not one to judge, Misty, but this kind of company is unusual for you.”

“He’s worth it.”

“What can this sad drunk possibly know that’s worth so much of your time, or money?”

Misty shook her head. “Sorry, Ab. Can’t risk the word getting out so soon on this one. I ain’t telling you nothing.”

Abigail pouted. “Fine. Your date is here anyway,” she added as Alph stumbled through the door.

“It’s not a date!”

The beggar pulled the chair in front of Misty and plopped down. “It could be,” he said with a crooked smile.

Misty raised one eyebrow. “No, it really couldn’t.” She pulled out a blank sheet and laid it down in front of her. “I hope your mind is clear enough, there is a lot to go over today.”

She began questioning him. Alph’s memory was surprisingly lucid and precise. However the disgraced guard’s mind would often get lost in meaningless details of his service and need to be steered back on track. They spent the better part of the afternoon discussing the layout of the palace floors and diverse means of security in place. A heist of this scale required every shred of information, and could take weeks to plan. Though there was no such thing as certainty in this line of work, Misty would make sure to work every angle to tip the scales in her favor.

As evening approached, her questions turned towards the guards’ routine on the outer perimeter.

“How many?” Misty asked.

“Twenty,” Alph affirmed. “Two on each tower, three more for each section of the walls. Eight rotations a day.”

She frowned. That many eyes meant almost constant surveillance for all angles. “This won’t do.”

Alph shrugged. “I’m sorry it’s not to your liking, your highness, but that’s how it is.”

“And how do you know the orders will stay the same?”

He finished his glass and refilled it with the last drops from the bottle. “For the last time, they won’t change anything.”

“You’ve been there less than three years.”

“I did most of my shifts with an old-timer. Nothing has changed in the last two decades. It won’t change in the next few months.”

“Alright.” She sighed and handed him a pile of coins. “Try to not waste it all on booze.” She curled her lip. “And take a damn bath.”

The beggar snickered. “Water is meant to make boats float, Misty, nothing more.”

“Worth a try,” she muttered as she watched the beggar stagger back towards the exit.

Not two seconds later, Griffin strolled through the same door. He scanned the room rapidly, went straight to Misty’s table and sat in the recently vacated seat.

“Hard at work, I see,” he observed. “Done milking our friend for information? How are the news?”

“Almost,” Misty grumbled. “And not good. The security is even tighter than I thought.”

“Really?”

“See for yourself.” She laid down two sketches on the table. “The entire rotation is closed. There’s no window unless we can create one, and even then, we’ll be lucky if it holds more than thirty seconds. Wall is thirty feet high, and is entirely clear, no hiding spot.”

“That sounds tough,” he agreed.

“And that’s just the outer wall,” she pursued. “After that, we have to cross fifty paces of ground to get to the palace itself, somehow enter it even though every single opening is either barred or guarded, and make our way through it without being seen. Oh, and the lock on the vault door? It’s an original Kleinsmith.”

Griffin marked a pause. “Well, I did ask. A real Kleinsmith?”

“Yeah.” She drank a gulp of water. “You can open it, right?”

Griffin pursed his lips and frowned slightly. “No lock is unbeatable. The question is not ‘if’, it’s ‘how fast’.”

“Fine. Can you open it before dawn, smartass?”

He pinched his chin. “If I’m doing well, we’re talking thirty, forty minutes. If I’m not, could be two hours. And if I screw up and trigger the deadlock, we’ll never open it.”

Misty nodded. “Then I’ll count two hours for safety.”

Griffin bit his lip, then leaned forward. “There’s always another option, you know…”

She sighed. “Griffin, I said no.”

“We can find a Fireblast rune on the black market, and just melt the lock! It’s not that expensive.”

“Yes, it is, it’s far beyond our means. But that’s not even the issue. We can’t leave any tracks, if they find out we broke in, it could be just as bad as a Sixth Rule infraction!”

“How so? They will find out eventually. We’re not exactly planning to leave empty-handed.”

“Yes, they will find out,” she explained with patience. “But only days laters, maybe weeks. They’ll accuse a guard, a nobleman, someone with access. The Guild — and by extension, we — will be safe. Also...”

“You don’t trust magic,” Griffin completed.

“I don’t trust magic,” Misty confirmed. “You’re always bragging about your lockpicking skills. You’re not going to chicken out now, are you?”

“Touché. Alright, we’ll do it your way.” He picked up the bottle, inclined it over a glass, then, disappointed to find it empty, put it back. “So what is your plan so far?”

She made a grim face and leaned back in her chair. “You’re not going to like this.”

Griffin squinted. “Not if you open with that, I won’t.”

“There’s a few well-established traditions that Alph has witnessed during his time there. For example, once a year, a big and pretentious celebration is held in memory of some dead emperor or another. Hundreds of nobles are invited.”

He scratched his head. “Uh… You’re the one making the plans, and the party at the Baron’s house did play in our favor, but I don’t see that happening again here. More nobles means more protection. That sounds like the opposite of an opportunity.”

“It does,” she agreed. “Except the celebration isn’t at the palace. The entire imperial family leaves for Wolvesley’s Respite, and stays there an entire week. A third of the Guard goes with them, almost all of the inner defense.”

Griffin let out an appreciative whistle. “Now that’s some inside insight. Why wouldn’t I like this? It’s perfect!”

Misty winced. “It happens early in the summer,” she revealed.

Griffin lost his smile instantly. “What? That’s, like, five months from now!”

“Yes, it is.”

“Come on!” he protested. “No way we’re waiting that long!”

“Yes, we are, Grif! It’s exactly what we need! What’s the point of having this knowledge if we don’t use it?”

“Yes, but…”

“Have some bloody patience! That gold isn’t going anywhere. We’ll lay low, work a few easy jobs in the meantime, polish our skills and our strategy.”

Griffin pinched his lips. “Fine,” he sighed. “Better wait than risk getting caught and hanged, I guess.”

“Caught in the palace? We’d be lucky if they merely hang us.”

“Yes, I got it, Misty. I’m just…” He made a wry face. “You know I’m not the most patient man. But I hear you. We’ll wait.”

“Appreciate it,” she commented. “And to be honest, I welcome the delay. This plan needs to be airtight.”

“It does,” Griffin agreed, softened. “So what have you got so far?”

She pointed at a portion of her drawing.

“The gardens work for us… sort of. There’s guards all over the place, but less so at night, so I can probably find a pattern and get us through safely. I’ve got one idea or two for getting inside the building, I’ll need to check some details.”

“One or two?”

“Okay, maybe ten or twelve. But the outer wall is… a problem. It’s just too open, with too many eyes.”

“Wait.” Griffin put his finger on a scribbling on the map. “Alph said there’s a water stream under the palace, right? This well uses it. Can’t we get in through there?”

“I thought about it. Checked the entrance yesterday. No chance. Even if we can dive long enough, the flow is way too strong, we’d get dragged all the way to the river.”

“So what do you think we should do?”

Misty had a sly smile. “I think we’re gonna need a diversion.”

 

* * *

 

 

The signboard read “Theud’s Elixirs.” Or so Misty assumed, since it was the name under which Gabriel had introduced the little alchemy shop to her, years ago. Its entire facade was painted with an abstract design made of vibrant colors that somehow changed according to the viewer’s position, evoking either a tumultuous water stream, a wildfire or a violent wind. The small storefront was overloaded with bottles with convoluted shapes filled with colorful mixtures that certainly served no purpose other than show. The shop was clearly aiming well above its modest position in a humble midtown district.

Misty smiled for herself and pushed the door. The inside of the store was just about as gaudy and ostentatious as the outside. From the ceiling hung half a dozen glass spheres, half-filled with a cloudy liquid, and in each of them a flame burned, sustained by some invisible trick. A middle-aged man in a blue tunic was standing behind the counter, focused on an ancient-looking leather-bound book. He lifted his head when the doorbell rang.

“Welcome, valuable customer! Would you—” he stopped mid-sentence and a large grin lit up his face. “Misty! How are you doing, girl?”

“Same old, Theud,” she smiled. “Scheming, tricking and going places.”

“I haven’t seen you since last summer!” he exclaimed. “How were the firecrackers, by the way?”

She grimaced. “They misfired.”

The shopkeeper opened wide eyes, looking outraged. “ _My_ crackers? Misfired? Are you kidding?”

Misty’s serious face crumbled apart, and she laughed out loud. “Yes, man, I’m kidding!”

He sighed. “You little…” He made a helpless, angry gesture, and concluded with an annoyed grunt.

“I missed you too,” Misty teased.

“What are you here for this time?”

She regained her calm.“I need a fire vessel.”

“Sure thing,” he acquiesced. “Light, burn, explosion?”

“Light. Something really bright, that could be seen from afar.”

“You could just light up a straw bale,” the alchemist observed. “What do you need a vessel for?”

“I need it to burn even in the wind or rain, stay lit for a few minutes and then die off on its own. A surprising color would help. Also, no smoke, and I’d rather avoid smells.”

“That’s it?” he sneered. “You don’t want it to attract golden geese, while you’re at it?”

“I don’t know, do you have one that does that?”

“I wish.” Theud scratched his chin. “I don’t have one that does all that you ask, either. Colored flames are complicated.”

“You can create it, then?”

A light appeared in the alchemist’s eye. “You want a custom job? That’s going to cost you.”

She gave him a beguiling smile. “Even for me?”

“Yes, Misty, even for you. It’s not about the extra work, it’s the materials. I’ll need to experiment a lot to get it right, and that stuff isn’t cheap.”

“It can be, if I provide it,” Misty winked.

Theud gave her a sideway glance. “Obviously, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Obviously.”

“But, if you’re in no hurry, I happen to know there is a shipment coming into port next month, with a ship named the Red Ferret. That shipment includes a crate of chalcanthite — bluestone, as you’d call it.”

“I see. And bluestone wouldn’t _happen_ to be a very useful substance for our project, by any chance?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “But alas, it would be too expensive for either one of us. Sadly.”

“Very sad,” Misty agreed.

“I’ll pray the Souls for a happy coincidence to befall us.”

“You do that,” she approved. “I'll do a prayer of my own. A practical one. See you, Theud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been informed that the Archive isn't exactly the place for Original Works, so I'll move this to Wattpad within the next weeks.  
> Let me know in the comments if you really want me to keep updating here too.


	12. Training Blades

“Incoming!”

Kathleen looked up just in time to see the attack aimed at her. She blocked hastily, jumped forward and swung her training sword towards Liao. The tiny girl performed an extravagant pirouette to dodge and counterattacked blindly, hitting Kathleen’s weapon with her own.

“Come on, Kitty, you can do better than that!” she taunted.

Kathleen smiled lightly and raised her guard. Her breath created tiny clouds in the cold winter air. She carefully parried two swift blows and slowly went on the offensive, pressuring Liao against the edge of the sand ring. She pushed her advantage, knocked her opponent’s weapon aside and thrust forward. A blast of wind burst in front of her and Liao vanished before her eyes.

“Hi there,” said a voice behind her.

Something hit her in the back and she stumbled forward over the ring’s edge. She looked behind her. Liao was grinning widely.

“I win,” she winked.

“Oh, come on!” Kathleen protested. “And you call Llia a cheat?”

She was trying her best to sound offended, but her eyes glinted with amusement.

“I sure do,”  Liao taunted. “I just cheat better.”

On a stone bench overlooking the training grounds, Liv and Llianah were observing the two girls’ spar.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” remarked Liv.

“Yes…” Llianah agreed. “Happier ones.”

“Hard to believe it was only four years ago. Feels like a lifetime.”

“No. Feels like yesterday.”

They watched as Liao dodged an attack and kicked Kathleen in the shoulder, following up with a vicious throw that sent the girl to the ground. She took a victorious pose, hand raised towards Llianah, then helped her partner to her feet.

“Liao really is taking a liking to you.”

“Liv, you don't have to try so hard,” Llianah sighed.

Liv put a hand on her shoulder. “You have to let go, eventually.”

The shadow of a sorrowful smile fleeted on Llianah’s lips.

“I still dream of her, you know?” she confided. “I can see her smile.”

Liv stayed silent, gently reaffirming her hold.

Scarmadilla and Hilda appeared behind them. They had not seen them coming. The Praetor sat beside Llianah.

“How is she doing?”

“Pretty well,” Llianah replied, welcoming the diversion. “I think we’re getting to a solid foundation. Strength is average. While it took some practice, she’s getting dexterous enough with a blade. Not very perceptive, but she makes up for it with great positioning and an excellent balance. Look at that.” She pointed at the sparring girls as Kathleen performed a particularly acrobatic dodge. “Nimble like a cat.”

“What about her behavior?”

“Nothing too risky. She usually tries to keep her distance for a while and wait for real openings. If anything, I’d say she’s a little too cautious and defensive.”

“Maybe a sword isn’t the best option for her,” Liv suggested.

Llianah rolled her eyes.

“Ladies, don’t start. There is a reason the sword has been one of the most used weapons for centuries.”

“Yes, for fighting humans,” Hilda countered. “She’s training for a different kind of predator.”

“No, for you, I get it. Spells and all that. But we do fight humans, often. The fact I’m the only one of us wielding a sword is just nonsense.”

“I use a sword!” Liv protested.

Hilda let out a little laugh.

“Hey! That’s hurtful!”

“You call that a sword?”

“It’s a broadsword!”

“Please,” Llianah mocked. “I’ve seen broadswords before. That blade looks like you’ve sharpened a workbench.”

“It’s only three inches large!”

“Oh, right. _Only_ three inches. I don’t even know how you’re lifting the damn thing, much less swinging it.”

“Back on topic, girls,” Scarmadilla called. “Kathleen’s weapon. Hilda had a point.”

“Fine, but don’t get too crazy,” Llianah warned.

“With moves like hers, she could try something with more reach. A polearm, maybe,” Liv suggested.

“That’s actually a good idea,” Llianah agreed, pinching her chin. “Maybe a spear or a glaive will fit her.”

“Liv?” Scarmadilla asked.

“Sure. I’ll think of a few designs to discuss with her once she has given it a try.”

“No time like the present,” Llianah decided. She walked down to the training grounds, grabbed a staff from the rack and tied a piece of fabric to it to mock a blunt edge.

“Kate,” she called. “Try with this.”

She launched the weapon at Kathleen who caught it deftly and launched a few attacks at the air.

“Too static,” Llianah criticized. “Try and be more mobile, like before.”

She began practicing different stances and moves under the watchful eye of the priestesses.

“Any progress with archery?” Hilda asked.

“Oh, Goddess.” Liv covered her eyes. “None whatsoever. She’s hopeless on that front.”

“That bad?”

“She tried her best, for weeks, I give her that much. But she’s just terrible at this, even against simple targets. She’d run out of arrows before landing a single one on a real foe.”

“Pity.”

Liv nodded. “There goes the safety of range,” she deplored.

“She’ll manage,” Hilda brushed off. “You, for one, never needed it.”

“Yes, but she’s not…” She made a vague gesture. “That was different.”

“Was it, though?”

Liv winced, but did not answer. She returned her attention to her study of Kathleen’s moves. The redhead had resumed her spar with Liao, and was now practicing dodges and larger swings, quick on her feet at every step.

“I think this could get somewhere,” Liv observed, appreciative. “She's already more on the offense.”

“Enough sparring. She needs a real test,” Scarmadilla declared, standing up.

“Don't hurt her!” Liv pleaded.

The Praetor looked at her, surprised. “I would never harm any of you. You know that.”

“That’s not what I said. Even if she wasn't seriously harmed, Liao had bruises for weeks after you first ‘tested’ her.”

Scarmadilla’s gaze hardened. “Nobody ever really fears the fire before burning their fingers. We can't have her discover her flaws in the middle of a real battle, when her life is at stake.”

“Kathleen is only just getting some confidence in her abilities. Too harsh a test could break her.”

“There are only six of us, Liv. She needs to be ready to fight as soon as possible. We cannot afford to wait.”

“We can’t afford to be needlessly brutal and risk breaking her spirit either.”

The Praetor stared her down for long seconds until Liv flinched.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

“No.” Scarmadilla’s face softened. “You’re right. I will hold back.”

Liv smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”

“Hold your thanks yet. I will go easy, but she will still feel it.”

“I don't doubt that.”

Scarmadilla gave her a tap on the back. “You stood up to me. That's a new look on you.”

“Someone needs to remind you you're our sister before being our Praetor.”

She returned her attention towards Kathleen and Liao. They had interrupted their practice, sitting down on the ground and apparently sharing a lively discussion.

“It’s easy to forget how young they are.”

“That's because you're looking too far ahead.”

She gave her a side glance. “I have to.”

She went to the rack and grabbed a long steel chain she coiled a few times around her forearm, then walked into the training arena.

Liv caught Hilda’s furtive peek as she sat back down. “What?”

“Someone’s grown quite the spine,” Hilda observed.

Liv chose not to answer and diverted her attention to the ring. Liao walked up the stairs and joined them.

Llianah tapped on Kathleen’s shoulder and pointed at the Praetor approaching them. “You need the stage?” she asked.

“I do,” Scarmadilla confirmed.

The swordmaiden gave Kathleen an encouraging nod and leaned back against the stone parapet.

The Praetor adjusted the ties in her long white braids and walked in the ring. “Show me what you learned,” she commanded.

“But you don’t have—” Kathleen stopped when she noticed the chain. “You’re going to fight with that?”

Scarmadilla did not answer, planted herself thirty feet in front of the girl, and suddenly swung her arm. The chain raised up and dashed towards Kathleen like a furious snake with unbelievable speed. She dodged out of pure instinct. The improvised weapon missed her only by a hair’s breadth.

“Always keep your guard up,” the Praetor advised.

Startled, Kathleen raised her weapon and stepped forward carefully. She avoided a second attack, ducked swiftly under a third and lunged, the tip of her staff aimed at Scarmadilla’s waist . Her opponent evaded the blow with a simple side step, grabbed the offered shaft and gave it a firm yank. The sudden pull on her weapon threw Kathleen off balance and she stumbled forward, only to feel the Praetor’s iron grip thrusting the staff back against her, hitting her straight in the sternum. She choked and fell to one knee, her breath stolen from her.

“Imprudent,” Scarmadilla noted.

The girl took a few seconds to catch her breath, rose up and took a few steps back. The Praetor bolted forward, twirled the chain like a sling and swinged it violently towards Kathleen. The girl parried the blow narrowly. The strength of the impact numbed her fingers. She launched a few cautious attacks, each of them countered with ease. At a seemingly innocuous moment, the chain lashed through the air and struck her exposed midsection. She winced in pain and surprise.

“Concentrate,” commanded the Praetor.

Kathleen wiped the sweat off her forehead and put her guard up for the third time. Her opponent went on the offensive, unleashing a barrage of attacks against her fragile defense. A blow swung past her guard and jabbed her shoulder. A second hit the side of her head. She leaped backwards, dived under another violent attack, rolled and threw herself forward. Scarmadilla’s swift kick caught her in the middle of her move, cutting her short. Dazed, she raised her staff hastingly to counter the following attack. The chain slid under her guard and snatched itself around her ankle. A brutal yank pulled her leg from under her and she fell abruptly on her back. Her opponent had already closed the gap, swooping in on her like a hawk. The Praetor’s hand darted straight for the girl’s throat, stopping only a mere inch from her skin.

Scarmadilla relaxed her stance and grabbed the girl’s hand, helping her up to her feet. She put a hand on her shoulder and looked at Llianah.

“I agree,” she nodded. “She shows potential.” She turned a soft gaze towards Kathleen. “That was good. Take some rest. I’ll see you tonight.”

She uncoiled the chain from her forearm and hanged it back on the rack. Kathleen watched her walk away, bewildered.

“You’re bleeding,” Llianah remarked.

Kathleen raised a hand to her head. A few drops of blood stained her fingers.

“Oh. Right. Just a scratch,” she said absently.

“Come here, we should clean that up,” Llianah enjoined.

“Are you alright?” Liv had came down the stairs.

“Yes, it’s nothing.” Kathleen grabbed the cloth Llianah was handing her and carefully swabbed her wound as they walked back to the temple.

Liv tapped her shoulder lightly. “How did that make you feel, trying your skills against the Praetor?”

“I see what you meant,” Kathleen replied as they passed the doors.

“What about?”

“You said there’s no one else I’d rather have at my side.”

“And?”

“I see it now,” Kathleen confided, awestruck. “She’s incredible.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Concentrate, Kathleen.”

The flame danced around the blade, flickered and vanished. Kathleen rubbed her forehead, visibly upset. Sat by her side, Scarmadilla gave her a disapproving look.

“What is with you tonight? Your mind isn’t into it at all.”

Kathleen lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Ma'am, I’ll try again.”

“No. You won’t get anything done simply by being stubborn. What’s bothering you?”

She hesitated. “It can wait.”

“Practice cannot, and this impedes your progress. Answer my question.”

The girl put down the blade on the bench. “Well, that would be the other way around.”

“Ah.” The priestess leaned back. “You want to ask me something.”

“Yes,” Kathleen confessed. “Hilda explained to me our sparks react differently to our emotions.”

“That’s especially true for you and me. What about it?”

“You say I need to be more confident, more intense. To have more passion. Is it the same for you?”

Scarmadilla stayed silent for a few seconds. “No, not exactly.”

“What emotions do you need?”

She smiled. “I’m the Sunburst Fury. The clue is in the name.”

“So you get… enraged?”

“Oh no.” She shook her head, looking almost offended. ““I never, ever let anger get the better of me. I can’t allow myself to lose it in the heat of battle.”

“But how…”

“There’s a clear line between righteous fury and mindless rage, Kathleen. The first is controlled, targeted strength. It’s a focused motion that, above all, has purpose. The latter is nothing more than a child’s blind temper tantrum. I’ll let you guess which one is mine.”

Kathleen nodded in understanding. “And that gives you the ability to scare people?”

“Terrify would be more accurate. And that’s not all there is to it. But yes, I do that.”

“Doesn’t it feel wrong?” she asked. “You stand to protect people, and your power is to make them afraid. It’s not fair.”

“Fair? Goddess, that’s a terrible choice of words. Look at me, Kathleen.” Scarmadilla stood up. “People were afraid of me long before I was chosen. I’m expected to be brutal, savage. The rich neighbours stared at me — sixteen-year-old me, barely a woman! — with fear and disgust, as if a beast of the wild had come prowling at their door. Yes, when I received this ability, it felt like a cruel twist of fate, like it came to undermine all my efforts to fit in. But over time, I realized people would be afraid of me no matter what I did. I would never be normal enough for them. So I accepted fear for the powerful weapon it can be. My foes should fear me. And my friends… Well.”

She put a warm hand on Kathleen’s shoulder.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“No… I mean, I definitely wouldn’t want to get on your bad side. But I’m not scared anymore. Though, I’ve learned to know you. The people outside didn't.”

“I don’t need them to trust me or believe in me. It’s not on me to make them see past their prejudice. They may hate me or fear me, I don’t care anymore, and I haven't for a long time now. I need only you. Only my own. You are enough. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She picked up the blade and placed it in her hand again. “Now let’s get back to it. Light that flame and make us proud.”


	13. Bluestone and Baiju

The oar cut through the water silently. Misty pulled vigorously on the handle, in unison with Griffin sitting by her side.

“Careful,” he whispered. “Long, deep strokes.”

Misty briefly nodded, and scanned the pier. The small merchant brig was docked over three hundred paces farther. She took a few seconds to admire the elegant eagle-like silhouette of the ship. It had entered the port with the tide, less than an hour earlier. Its sails had been folded regularly over the yards, its oil lamps were lit, and she spotted a few human figures coming and going on its deck.

Under the cover of the night, Misty and Griffin’s little “borrowed” rowboat was slowly making its way towards the ship’s starboard side, invisible at this distance to the eyes of anyone aboard. Misty looked at the sky, then held up her hand. Griffin joined her in pulling the oars out of the water. She reached inside her vest and took out a piece of mirror which she oriented to reflect light towards the base of the jetty. A similar signal answered hers. She watched as a massive figure stepped out of the shadows, then she raised her thumb at Griffin and they silently resumed their slow rowing.

On the dock, Gabriel took off his hood, took a wide stance and marched straight towards the ship. Two young sailors, who had just unloaded the first crate, interrupted their work when they spotted the large man approaching them. He ignored them and went to stand firm on the edge of the pier.

“Captain Shelby!” he bellowed at the ship.

The men exchanged a look, hesitant.

“Shelby! Come down here, you coward!” he yelled again.

One of the sailors nervously raised his voice. “Excuse me, can we help you?”

Gabriel turned to them abruptly. His burned one-eyed face appeared even more frightening in the flickering light of the torches. “Where’s your wimpy, weak-willed, thief of a captain?”

Startled, the sailors took a step back. A third one appeared behind the bulwark. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “There’s no one named Shelby here.”

Gabriel pointed a finger at the ship. “Don’t lie to me!” he barked. “This here is the Western Skimmer. Shelby’s ship. I’d recognize this cockleshell anywhere.”

“No, that’s the Red Ferret. It’s not—”

“Are you calling  _ me  _ a liar, now?”

Attracted by the uproar, more seamen’s heads appeared over the railing. On the other side of the ship, the rowboat was softly rocking in the waves alongside the hull.

Hanging from the bulwark, Griffin peeped at the deck. All of the twelve sailors aboard were focused on Gabriel’s act, their backs turned to the cargo. With one hand, he adjusted the black cap over his blond hair, then swiftly vaulted over the railing. The deck was heavily loaded with various crates and barrels. Misty climbed in behind him.

“That’s a lot,” she whispered. “Gabe won’t keep them forever. You take the hold.”

“How do I recognize the crate?”

“Theud said bluestone needs to be kept dry. It will be sealed with tar, or wrapped in oilskin.”

The boy nodded and disappeared through the trapdoor. Misty wasted no time and began inspecting the cargo on deck. Most of it was large crates, casks and amphoras that were unlikely to contain rare alchemical supplies. She slipped behind the sailors still busy trying to reason with Gabriel’s bickering and she lifted a sheet hiding a bunch of containers.

“That’s the first time I’m disappointed to find wine,” she muttered under her scarf as she put the sheet back in place.

On the other side of the ship, the door to the captain’s cabin opened abruptly. Misty dropped hastily behind a barrel. A tall, square-jawed woman in a washed-out dark coat walked through the deck, a gloomy look in her tired eyes.

“What’s the ruckus?” she yelled over the tumult.

Gabriel stopped in the middle of his rant. “You’re not Shelby,” he blurted out.

“Heck no, I’m not Shelby.” She leaned over the railing. “Shelby lost his entire cargo to pirates two months ago and is still stuck in the South trying to make up for his losses. You won’t see him around these parts anytime soon.”

“So you’ve seen him?” Gabriel asked. “Well next time, you can give him a piece of my mind!”

Misty muffled a laugh as he resumed his yelling. The man’s acting was incredibly lifelike. Given the chance, he could have been a tremendous comedian. 

She glanced at the rest of the cargo, searching for another place that could hide the crate. Her eyes fell on the opened door leading to the captain’s cabin. As far as she knew, bluestone was not rare enough to be kept this securely, but an overly cautious captain could still consider it.

She slinked inside the cabin. The room was simple and austere. A hammock made of braided wire hung between the walls, only a few inches behind a desk cluttered with letters and papers. The only touch of adornment were the dozens of seashells nailed into the back wall into an uneven mosaic. The captain was probably a bit of a collector.

She went through the drawers, looted a handful of coins, then moved on to the large chest and found it left unlocked. She rummaged through the clothes that made up most of its contents until her fingers brushed against a polished surface. Surprised, she pulled out a large bottle and opened her eyes wide. The wine she had ignored earlier was clearly high-quality merchandise, but this, by the delicate trim of the bottle and the unbroken seal over the cork, was rare, top-of-the-shelf baiju.

“Not here for this,” she whispered to herself, though her voice definitely lacked conviction.

She put the bottle down on the clothes and returned to her inspection of the cabin. There were not too many places a crate of merchandise, even a small one, could be hidden, and her search quickly proved to be fruitless.

A gruff gull squawk pulled her out of her research. She peeked through the window. Griffin was back on the deck, crouching beside the bulwark, a box under his arm. She took a step towards the door, then looked behind her and hesitated. The bottle of baiju was still resting in the open chest. She shrugged, then walked back to it, rolled it inside a piece of clothing and put it in her old bag before sneaking out to meet Griffin outside.

“For the love of the Souls, Griffin, stop it with the bird noises,” she whispered. “Everytime I hear you, it’s worse than ever. You sound like you sneezed in a foghorn. Do you have it?” she asked.

He held up the box and opened the lid with a smile, revealing a bunch of lackluster blue crystals under the light of the oil lamps.

“Perfect. Let’s bail.”

She grabbed a line, leapt over the railing and slid down to the rowboat. Griffin dropped the box in her hands and followed her the same way. They untethered the boat, grabbed the oars and swiftly rowed away.

 

* * *

 

 

Minutes later, they had climbed back on dryland, four docks away from the Red Ferret. 

“That went well, I’d say,” Griffin said, sitting on the edge of the pier.

“More than well,” Misty winked. She pulled the bottle out of her bag. “Check this out.”

Griffin let out an admirative whistle. “Now that’s something I never had the chance to try.”

“Me neither.”

“I guess you’re going to save it for a special occasion?”

“Nope.” She ripped off the seal and popped the cork nonchalantly.

Griffin raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t drink on the job?”

“Job’s done. I’m free to get wasted.”

She drank a large gulp and closed her eyes, letting the feeling of alcohol burn her throat and run through her. To her palate used to common beer and wine, it tasted like pure liquid gold, an aroma of absurd and elusive wealth and opulence.

“Woh!” she exclaimed after a tiny cough. “You gotta try this. This, right there, is nothing short of bottled lightning.” 

She handed him the jar. He looked at the details of the bottle, suspicious, then took a careful sip. His eyes lit up, and he immediately took a second gulp, much larger.

“That’s something else,” he admitted.

“Save some for him,” Misty advised, pointing at the pier.

Gabriel was walking towards them, a satisfied smile on his face.

“You got what you wanted?” he asked.

“We sure did.” Misty threw him a small purse. “Thanks for your help. Amazing performance.”

“Anytime, Misty. It’s not that often I get to have a little fun on the job.”

Griffin held up the bottle. “A little celebration?”

“Now that’s a nice find,” he commented before taking a swig with a satisfied sigh.  “It’s been ages.”

“You had some before?”

“On two occasions, back in the day. It brings back memories.”

“That gotta warm up your old bones,” Griffin sneered.

“It does.” Gabriel swallowed another sip and gave the jar back to Misty. “But that’s about all they can handle nowadays.” He pulled his hood back on his hairless head. “You kids have fun,” he added before walking away.

They stayed a while on the pier, sharing the costly alcohol in silence, taking in the view of the silver moon plunging into the horizon. Misty drank the last drops from the bottle, then threw it in the sea where it sank immediately. She stood up, slightly staggering, and picked up the stolen box.

“I’ll get this to Theud first thing in the morning.”

“Wait,” Griffin said. “What about the Guild’s cut?”

Misty frowned. “This doesn’t count. There’s no score. It’s preparation for our big hit.”

“Miles won’t see it that way.”

“Screw Miles.”

“I agree with the general sentiment,” Griffin approved. “But from where he’s standing, we just ran a regular job. How will you justify not giving anything? Unless you want to explain our plan to the entire Guild?”

Misty winced. Griffin was right. They still could not risk the word getting out.

“Fine,” she groaned. “Throw him a bone. I’ll pay you back later.”


	14. Faith

“Gotcha.”

Liao grabbed the small jar and observed the red powder inside it. She meant no offense to Llianah’s cooking, but “a pinch of salt” was not and would never be appropriate seasoning for any respectable meal. Even in this culture that could barely handle green pepper.

Llianah suddenly barged in the storeroom, agitated, and began rifling through the shelves. She grabbed a few glass jars, read the labels, then scowled and swiftly put them aside.

“Llia? Do you need something?”

“Where’s the damn ginseng? I need to—”

“Here.” Liao handed her a small glass jar half-filled with roots. “What happened?”

“Hilda,” Llianah simply answered, her face clouded.

“She’s dreaming again?”

“Yes.” She dropped two roots in a mortar and began crushing them hastily. “It’s been nearly four hours.”

“Four!” Liao exclaimed. “How is she even—”

“Don’t ask me,” Llianah sighed. “I told her she should play it safe, but she never listens.”

“Dammit, I hate it when she does that.”

Llianah completed her preparation and they both hurried to the archives. Scarmadilla was there, sitting on a stool next to an alcove in the wall, her expression closed and uptight. Liv was standing with her back against the wall, a similar look on her face. Behind the open curtains, an old mattress laid on the bare floor filled the entire space between the bookshelves. A mess of shabby blankets and washed-out cushions were assembled into a makeshift bed which looked more like a nest. Hilda was lying on that bed, eyes rolled upward, pale as a ghost. She appeared afflicted by a terrible sickness, her face emaciated, her auburn curls stuck by sweat to her livid skin.

“She still hasn’t returned?” Llianah asked, her tone tightened by worry.

“Evidently, not,” Scarmadilla replied without taking her eyes off Hilda.

“How long will she—”

“You’re asking me as if I had any way of knowing, Llianah.” Her voice was calm and poised despite her obvious nervosity.

“Sorry. I’m just tense.”

“We’re all tense. Pull yourself together.”

Llianah sat down on a stool, chewing nervously on her lip.

On the bed, Hilda had a sudden hiccup, her eyes closed and her breathing went from faint to ragged. Her body was shaken by a few spasms that turned to convulsions, until her head dropped limp on the pillows. She finally opened her eyes and took a huge breath, like a swimmer reaching for air after an endless dive. She coughed a few times and gazed at the three women leaning over her.

“What are y’all... Doing here?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

They all collectively sighed in relief.

“By the Goddess, Hilda, I told you to go easy!” Llianah scolded. “You know what this does to you! You scared the crap out of us! Not to mention you’re leaving tomorrow, now is not the time to exert yourself.”

“Wrong,” Hilda groaned, exhausted. “You’ll need every bit of information I can get before I leave. Once I’m away, you’re riding blind.” She wiped droplets of sweat off her forehead. “Now stop complaining and listen. I have something.” She turned her head towards Scarmadilla. “A shard is in Taggeherd. Someone’s using it, and not lightly.”

“Taggeherd?”

“A farmer’s village.” She grabbed the bowl Llianah was offering off her hands and drank avidly, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “One hundred miles east of Ironcliffe, give or take.”

“That’s two weeks’ worth of travel time. Is it going to stay there?”

“Can’t say. I got a distinct feeling of emergency, but at the same time, they seemed… Reluctant.”

Llianah crinkled her nose. “So the old ones want us to hurry, but they don’t like it? Why? Is it dangerous? Is the Cult involved?”

“Could be. It wasn’t explicit. You’ll have to be careful.”

“Looks like we’ll also be leaving shortly, then,” Liv observed.

“Indeed,” Scarmadilla confirmed. “Get packing.”

 

* * *

 

 

The warnings of Hilda’s dream were still on Liv’s mind as she packed supplies for the journey. She was carrying crates from the kitchens when a whimper coming from the outside drew her away from her thoughts. She laid her burden down on the ground and leaned through the door. Kathleen was sitting on a bench, looking at the forest, one hand on her face.

“Kate? Are you alright?”

Kathleen held back a sob and wiped her eyes swiftly. “Yes,” she lied, looking away.

Liv tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “Do you need a moment alone?”

“No…” She rubbed her eyes again. “I mean…” She sighed. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

Liv closed the door behind her and went to sit at Kathleen’s side. “Do what?” she enquired.

Kathleen gestured vaguely at a pile of papers covered in scribblings.

“This. My spark.”

Liv scratched the neat hairless band on the side of her head, perplexed. “What are you talking about? You’re getting stronger every day, we all see it.”

“No, not that, not the fire. The other part. The memories.”

“What about it?”

Kathleen hit the documents with the back of her hand. “Hilda’s research says I have to practice on my own past. Get used to travel down memory lane, relive past events. All past events.”

The priestess took her gaze off her and leaned back, looking at the lines of trees in the distance. Spring was running late, and the first leaves were yet to appear. A trio of squirrels were running and bouncing between the low branches, in an intense quarrel over a bunch of seeds. The two women observed the little balls of fur dashing around.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Liv finally said.

Kathleen looked at her, her blue eyes meeting Liv’s grey ones.

“I wanted to forget,” she whispered. “So hard.”

“But you couldn’t, could you?”

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

Liv passed a hand around her shoulders. “You can’t change the past, love. The only way forward is through. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I lost everything last time,” Kathleen replied, eyes wide with anguish. “I can’t lose you too.”

Liv smiled warmly. “Trust me, whatever it is that lies in your past, that won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

She let out a little laugh. “Kate. Liao was a thief, Hilda is a witch, and I’m pretty sure the five of us are wanted in at least two major cities. I can’t imagine anything your sweet and innocent self might have done that is considered worse than that.”

She let go of the girl’s shoulder and grabbed her hands in her own.

Kathleen shook a few of her long red hair off her face, swallowed and took a deep breath.

“My full name is Kathleen-Aria of Hazelspring,” she divulged. “Or... it was.”

“You’re highborn? Wait. Illegitimate?”

“No… I’m the third child of the Earl of Hazelspring. I’ve been disavowed.”

“Why?”

Kathleen’s chin started shaking. Her hands clutched on themselves within Liv’s tender hold.

“Take your time, Kate, you don’t have to—”

“I fell for the stable girl,” Kathleen whispered. “Anya.”

Liv gave her an ambiguous side glance. “What happened?”

“We were just fooling around together… a few kisses... and my younger brother saw us. He panicked and went straight to our father.”

“I assume his reaction was as can be expected from any old nobleman…” Liv muttered, lips pinched.

Kathleen nodded. “Anya was a commoner. I had committed a twofold mortal sin in his eyes, and I don’t think he would have forgiven either. My mother refused to even look at me. My father… made an attempt to control himself. Sort of. He slapped me in the face, sat me down forcefully in his office and yelled at me. For hours. Yelled that I was a disgrace, an aberration, that I was to repent, to vow to better myself, and to honor my family name. And there I was, in tears, pouring out my first expression of love again and again and again, and I did not, I could not understand what I had done wrong.”

Liv stared at her, shocked. “That was him showing restraint?”

“He… Did try to talk to me.”

“Goddess, Kate, that wasn’t… Sorry. Keep going.”

“He locked me up, then came back at night and asked me if I ‘had come to my senses’. And I couldn’t lie to him… I thought he was going to yell at me again, but this time, he was… Cold. Torn, like hurt. He accused me of breaking my mother’s heart. Then he walked me down the stairs to the courtyard. ‘A curse on you, for making me do this.’ Those were the last words he said to me. He locked the gate behind me and walked away.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

Liv’s grasp tightened briefly. “What did you do?”

“I had no idea what to do. So I walked the road to Hykulla. I slept in the streets. I tried to get help from the beggars and vagabonds. You wouldn’t believe how tight a community these people can be. Yet, I couldn’t fit in. I was born of nobility, the enemy. They felt pity for me, helped me survive, but never took me in as one of their own, even though I had nothing left.”

“That must have been tough.”

“Yes, it was… But in time, I came to see they were right. I had been well-fed for years, I was healthy, and I was educated. Even thrown in the gutter, I was luckier than most of them. So I used that. I became a public scribe. I earned enough to make a reasonable living, up until…”

“Until your seventeenth birthday, when you burst into flames in an open marketplace,” Liv completed.

“Yes.”

They let a moment elapse. The squirrels had ran off with the seeds, their branch was now the perch for a couple of red sparrows whose chirps echoed between the trees.

Liv let go of Kathleen’s hands and leaned back. “And that’s what you were so frightened about,” she said with a slight chuckle.

“That’s no laughing matter!” Kathleen protested, shocked.

“No, you’re right,” Liv agreed. “I apologize. What happened to you is, indeed, tragic. But for you to be worried about this…”

Kathleen looked at her, confounded.

“Kate, we’re an order that’s composed solely of women with very limited contact to the outside world. Courtship between girls is more of a norm than an exception around here.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“You ought to ask Llianah for the complete legend of Adrianne someday,” Liv said with a wink.

“Stop it!” Kathleen protested again. “I was so scared!” She attempted to look upset, however the dismay in her voice had given way to the sound of tremendous relief.

The priestess laughed again. “And how are you feeling now?”

“Better,” Kathleen approved emphatically, an irrepressible smile widening on her face. “Much, much better.”

Liv reached over the girl’s lap to pick up the pile of papers and placed it in her hands.

“You can absolutely do this,” she said. “You, and you alone, were chosen to be the Herald.”

Kathleen nodded in agreement

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I can do this,” she swore.

Liv stood up in front of her and lowered herself on a knee to look her in the eye. “Show me,” she enjoined.

Kathleen recoiled slightly. “Liv, no. Not to you.”

“I’m asking you to.”

“It’s dangerous!”

“Everything we do is dangerous, love. You need to learn.”

The girl hesitantly put the documents down again, then placed her hands on both sides of Liv’s head. “Are you sure?”

“I have complete and utter faith in you.”

Flames arose on Kathleen’s shoulders, flickering quietly in the cold breeze. Incandescence consumed the pale blue of her irises. She witnessed Liv’s grey eyes slowly undergo the same shift before a blazing curtain occulted her vision.

 

_Her fist hit him straight in the jaw. The boy fell down on his back, a surprised look on his face. Pride filled her heart as—_

_She looked down at the hammer in her hand, the smoldering fire of the forge, then at the man at her side. “Grip closer to the head,” he explained. “Strength isn’t everything here, when—”_

_“—need to go!”_

_A young girl with short silver hair was screaming at her._

_“We can’t just stay here!”_

_Somewhere in the distance, a monstrous howl ripped through the silence of the night._

 

Each memory passed her by like immaterial snowflakes in the wind. “Hold,” she murmured.

 

_“—thank you,” said a man in worn-out uniform. His face looked vaguely familiar._

_“Where is she?” she asked._

_He grabbed a keyring from his belt. “The dungeons are just underneath.”_

_A flash of anger rushed to her head. “The dungeons? You put her in a_ cell _?”_

_She watched her own hand snatch the keys from the guard’s hand and she barrelled through the door. She barely registered the man’s distant protests behind her. Her course ended in front of a solid iron gate. She muffled a gasp of surprise. Behind the bars, surrounded by furious flames, her own face was staring at her, a frightened glint in her eyes._

 

Kathleen slowly took her hands off Liv’s head. The flames vanished like candles in the wind. Liv blinked a few times, as if waking up from a dream. A little light-headed, she sat down on the floor.

“Liv? Are you alright?” Kathleen asked.

“Yes, just...” Liv put her hand forward, palm towards Kathleen. “Give me a second. That was unsettling.” She shook her head as if chasing off the last scraps of the vision. “Did you see it too?”

“Yes,” Kathleen whispered. “The guardpost… It feels like so long ago.”

“It’s not. But you’ve sure come a long way already. Look at you now.”

Kathleen’s cheeks flushed softly. “I’ve barely just started.”

“If that’s you just getting started, imagine the heights you’ll reach.” Liv stood up and tapped on her shoulder. “Come with me. I have something for you.”

Kathleen gathered her notes and followed Liv through the hallway until they reached the forge. Liv moved to the side and pointed at a table at the end of the room. Perplexed, Kathleen walked to it and discovered a weapon laid down on the table, made of a long and solid shaft at the end of which was affixed a steel blade, almost as long as a short sword but large as a hatchet. She recognized on the metal the same iridescent reflections she had seen on the priestesses’ hunting weapons. Half the shaft was wrapped in leather for an assured grip, and a piece of bright red cloth was tied just under the blade.

“Red is your color,” Liv said.

Kathleen chuckled, then grabbed a strand of her hair to compare it with the adornment. “I guess it is.”

She grabbed the glaive and weighed it in her hand.

“It’s lighter than training blades,” she observed.

Liv nodded. It was by design. Practice weapons were intended to help build strength. She stepped back to let Kathleen examine every inch of her new glaive. The girl flipped the blade to discover a few symbols engraved in the steel.

“I’ve seen these before,” she said. “It’s the same ones that are on the Temple’s door. What does it mean?”

“It’s Qel, Hilda would explain nuances better than I. But a rough translation would be ‘Take action — don’t expect someone else to.’”

Llianah entered the room at this instant. “Liv, did you pack the—”

She interrupted her sentence at the sight of the glaive in Kathleen’s hand. Her expression closed.

“Liv, she’s not ready,” she whispered.

“She’s strong. She can handle it,” Liv assured. “We’ll look after her, won’t we?”

“Of course, but that’s not what I meant, she…” Llianah raised a clenched hand to her lips. “Please don’t push her.”

“I don’t. I have faith in her.”

“Faith.” She bit her lip. “I’m sure you do.”

She turned away and walked to Kathleen, who was still admiring the lights playing on the blade. The girl raised her head and held up the glaive for Llianah to look at.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Llianah had a thin smile. “It’s a fine weapon,” she said. She pushed the blade aside and locked her eyes into Kathleen’s. “Kate, the day you arrived here, you made me a promise.”

“I remember.”

“And?”

Kathleen looked at her reflection in the polished metal, then back at Llianah’s severe face.

“I’m sure,” she asserted with a vigorous nod.


	15. A Red Cloth

A drop of sweat beaded up on Thalia’s temple, rolled down to her jawline, then her chin and finally fell. It was frozen solid before hitting the snow. 

She exhaled slowly and hastened her pace. The sun was shining over the mountain, almost at its zenith already. So far in the Northlands, it never rose really high in the sky, yet it was bright enough to turn the snowy ground into a glaring expanse that forced the sorceress to cover her eyes as she hiked up the trail.

She walked past a large tree, looked behind it, and scowled. Somehow, a fox had been dumb enough to get caught in her snare. His body was hanging from the wire, the snow around it all muddled, probably from the beast’s wild attempts at breaking free before dying.

“So much for being sly,” Thalia sighed.

She reset the trap, picked the fox up and hung it over her shoulder with the two rabbits she had collected earlier, then picked up the pace. Meat was meat, and she was in no position to be picky.

It took her less than an hour to make it back to her shelter. The old bear skin she had used so poorly the first day was now securely pitched against the wind, and an array of smaller furs and foliage added over the weeks completed what was now a small makeshift hut, humble but steady.

She dropped her prey and examined the firepit. The log she had put in before leaving was almost entirely consumed, but the ashes were still smoldering. She dropped a few branches and dry leaves over the embers, then blew carefully on it. The fire rekindled almost instantly. She added two more pieces of wood, pulled out her knife and grabbed one dead rabbit, when an unusual detail caught her attention.

A thin line of white smoke was coming out of an isolated cabin down in the valley. Thalia put down her quarry once again, stood up, walked a few steps and squinted. Pieces of colored fabric were hanging from the house’s rooftop, though at this distance it was usually difficult to discern them clearly. Today, however, all three of them displayed a bright red that was easily visible from the mountain.

The sound of boots walking in the snow behind her betrayed the presence of her mentor.

“You saw your friends’ signal?” he asked.

“You know about this?”

The pariah ignored the question. “This code system you’ve come up with is interesting. What does it say?”

The sketch of an ambiguous smile appeared on Thalia’s face. “They have spotted movement from the cultists.”

He pinched his lips. “Did they, now.”

“They wouldn’t dare lie to me.”

“I don’t doubt the loyalty of your informers, however you earned it. Yet, this discovery is suspicious. From what you’ve told me of this organisation, they are very careful and secretive. You can’t assume you just happened to have stumbled upon them.”

She scowled. “You think it’s a trap? They have no reason to expect me.”

“True, but you might not be the only one after them.”

She shrugged off the remark. “I have no intention of making friends, but the enemy of my enemy is, at worst, a bystander. I won’t let anyone distract me.”

He leaned back against a rock, arms crossed.

“So you’ll run into the valley, find yourself a horse, and ride to the South. What will you do then?”

“It’s probably a small group. If I get my hands on even only a few of them, I can make them talk. Pull the thread up to the leader of this sect, and cut off the head of the snake.”

“A surprise attack, and information gathering. It could work. What if that leader happens to be there in person?”

“Then I’ll kill the bastard on the spot and be done with it,” she retorted.

The pariah let out a short breath that could pass for a disdainful chuckle. “At least you don’t lack confidence.”

“Why does this sound like an accusation?”

“Last time you were this full of yourself, I broke more than a few of your bones,” he stated calmly. “Are you going to let your pride get the better of you, again?”

“It’s not pride. It’s righteousness.”

“An arrow in the eye stops the wicked and the righteous alike.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she exclaimed.

Thalia turned her back to him and walked into the refuge. She went straight for the rack on the north wall and grabbed her sword from the top hanger, wiped the dust covering the blade, inspected its edge, then tied the harness to her waist and sheathed it. The weight of the heirloom at her side felt familiar despite the time she had to live without it. She gripped the handle tightly.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “You’ll see.”

She walked back out. The pariah still stood in the same spot, an illegible look on his scarred face. He did not make one move to stop her.

“I don’t need to prove myself to you,” she snarled. “This might be the best chance I’ll ever get and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it. You can stay here and stare at the mountain.”


	16. Thirty-Five

“No! You’ll eat tonight like everyone, you lazy dumbass!”

Liao pulled harshly on the reins to redirect her horse towards the dirt road and away from the tasty berry bush it seemed very interested in.

“You could be nicer to him,” Kathleen remarked. “He’s been carrying you all day and got name-calling as his only reward.”

Her own mount, a placid middle-aged mare, had been accommodating her commands without a hitch. For the expedition, the priestesses had outfitted themselves with sturdier gear than their usual training garbs, though still made mostly of cloth and leather, not nearly as heavy as actual armor, and clearly devised to favor agility. Liao’s belt bore a long dagger besides her usual throwing knives, a small steel shield was held against Llianah’s back, in addition to the short sword at her waist and the bow and quiver strapped to her saddle. Both women had tied their hair for convenience while riding. Liv was arguably the most notable of the group, with the giant double-edged sword attached to her shoulders, so outstanding that no one would notice the relatively inconspicuous chain coiled around Scarmadilla’s belt alongside her short leaf-shaped blade.

Kathleen stretched her shoulders and rectified her stance, back straight as a board and wrists impeccably aligned. Feeling her glaive hanging on her back had been unsettling at first, especially on horseback, but she had grown used to it in a matter of days.

“That’s some fancy riding posture you’ve got,” Llianah observed, amused.

Kathleen felt her cheeks turning red. “Force of habit,” she explained. “It’s been years, but I guess this sort of thing just stays.”

Liao laughed as she caught up with them. “Are our travelling accommodations to your liking, Your Highness?”

Kathleen blushed again. “Well at least,  _ I _ can ride properly!” she retorted.

Liao looked outraged. “Come again?”

“I’ve seen sacks of potatoes who could ride with more elegance.”

“Ouch. She bites back!”

“And she’s right,” Llianah agreed. “You’re going to ruin your spine before you hit twenty-five if you don’t sit straight.”

“My spine is holding just fine,” Liao grumbled. She still begrudgingly straightened her posture.

Ahead of them, Scarmadilla let a little smile soften her serious face. They had been riding in pack for the last twelve days, and the bonds Kathleen had built with the other priestesses over weeks of training and studying had been greatly strengthened by the time spent together on the road. With a few more months, they could easily blossom into a true fellowship.

They reached the top of a hill overlooking a wide grassland. Fifty mere paces below, a dozen of common houses, a large barn and what seemed to be a small chapel were unevenly positioned on both sides of the river that ran through the verdant glen. Half a dozen settlers were building the wood frame of what would likely become a larger dwelling; two others were washing clothes in the water stream; further away, they could discern at least two more sitting on the hills among a herd of black sheep grazing around.

Scarmadilla stopped her horse and raised a hand. They all halted at her side.

“Is that Taggeherd?” Liao asked.

“Must be,” Scarmadilla replied, thoughtful.

A few of the villagers seemed to have spotted them and had assembled into a small crowd, understandably surprised by the presence of armed women on their grounds.

“I don’t feel anything,” Liv said.

“It’s not here,” Scarmadilla confirmed. “And these people probably never wander very far.”

“Maybe the bearer was just passing by,” Liao suggested.

“I’ll ask around,” Llianah decided.

Liv tapped on Kathleen’s shoulder. “Kate, go with her.”

The girl looked surprised, but complied and dismounted with Llianah to follow her to the crowd of assembled villagers.

An old man, grey-haired and wrinkled but standing firmly on his two feet broke from the group and went to meet them.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Llianah said. “Has your village been visited by a traveler recently?”

“That sort of thing happens pretty often.”

“This one would have been here about two weeks ago. We need to know where they went.”

The man scratched his balding head. “I mean no offense, but I don’t know you. What do you want with him?”

“That person is carrying a powerful and dangerous artifact. He might not be aware of it, but it can and will bring harm.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but he’s not dangerous,” he affirmed. “Far from it.”

Llianah squinted, suspicious. “What makes you so certain?”

The old man had a radiant smile. “Because of this,” he said, sweeping aside his long tunic to reveal his left leg. Kathleen examined the limb. It was bit hairy and had a noticeable tan line. Everything about it appeared ordinary.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” she asked.

“Exactly! Nothing’s wrong with it!” He put a hand on his knee. “I’ve had a limp for the last twenty years. Couldn’t walk five steps without a cane. And look at it now! Even the scar is gone!”

Llianah opened wide eyes. “He’s a healer.”

“He’s a goddamn miracle worker, is what he is. I’ve never seen someone so talented.”

“Talent’s got nothing to do with it,” Llianah retorted. She pinched her chin. “Listen,” she proposed. “You don’t know us, and have no reason to trust us. If my word isn’t enough, maybe this will help loosen your tongue.”

She pulled five silver crowns out of her purse and handed them to the villager. The man took a step back. He reached for the coins, then stopped. “You promise me you mean him no harm?”

Llianah shrugged. “So now that I’m offering you money, you’ll take my word for it? Either you trust me, or you don’t, and you just said you don’t. A promise from a stranger doesn’t mean anything. Just take it and tell me where he went.”

He looked at Kathleen, then at Llianah again, and after one last hesitation, grabbed the coins in his wrinkled hand. “He stayed a little while, then took the road to the East. That was five days ago.”

“What’s this way?”

“Orvilliden. On horseback, you can be there tomorrow.”

“Is that another farmer village?”

“It is. My cousin lives there.”

“Thank you. Farewell.”

 

* * *

 

 

As night approached, they stopped on the side of the road and unpacked their basic camp necessities, as they had done every night since they left the Temple. With barely a few words exchanged, they had coordinated the entire installation. Every evening saw the same routine. Scarmadilla would leave them to scout the area for possible threats, Liv gathered wood and the other would set the camp itself. Taken aback at first, Kathleen had quickly found her place in the unspoken travelling organisation.

She finished clearing the area that would hold the campfire and started looking out for rocks to circle it. Liv dropped a bunch of dry wood on the ground next to her, and they lighted the fire. Something about Llianah’s talk with the villager was still on Kathleen’s mind as she watched the flames rising. She glanced at Liao and Llianah, seated together on the other side of the fire, apparently unbothered. The other priestesses seemed to consider the situation ordinary, and yet...

“You’re uncharacteristically silent,” Liv observed.

Kathleen sat down on a large log. “I just don’t understand why we’re hunting down a healer. I thought the shards were dangerous. Evil.”

“It’s not that black and white.” Liv arranged the branches in the fire to let it breathe. “A crystal is a catalyst. It improves one’s abilities. What the user decides to do with it is up to them. In this case, he’s channeling it to enhance his healing power.”

“But if he’s using it to save people, what’s the harm?”

“The harm, Kate,” Llianah explained, slightly irritated, “is when the shard’s energy ends up bursting out and unleashes the Void upon our world. It doesn’t matter how noble the motives are, the end result is the same.”

“We cannot falter just because someone with good intentions stands before us,” Liv added. “You know where that road leads, and if we don’t act, he might not be the only one who ends up walking it.”

“A lesson some of us know all too well,” Llianah completed harshly.

Kathleen stared at her, surprised. The swordmaiden’s jaw was clenched, her skin even more pale than usual, and she avoided her gaze. 

She turned towards Liv. “What was that about?”

Liv bit her lip. She peeked at Llianah who had closed her eyes and after a second of hesitation gave an quiet nod. Liv tapped on her shoulder softly, then sat back down.

“Listen carefully, Kate,” she said in a voice turned grave, almost grim. “This brings us back nearly four years from today, to an event that left a bloody mark in the history of our order.”

Kathleen blinked, troubled by the sudden change in her tone. Llianah’s chin was slightly trembling, and even Liao’s expression was unusually gloomy. She pulled her log a little closer to the flames and wrapped her travelling cape tighter around her body. “I’m listening,” she said.

“It was a decisive expedition,” Liv began. “Llianah and I were only novices at the time. I had just joined. We were both told to stay at the camp.”

“What was the aim of the expedition?” 

“We had spotted an uprising of the Void Cult in the East. They had turned a high-ranking officer — or maybe he was one of them all along. We never knew. They had gathered followers and amassed many crystals by the time we found out about it. Thirty-eight Æmerylli went up against them. Literally every fighter we had.”

“That many? You wanted to attack them upfront?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. “We assumed we could afford to. In retrospect, it might have been arrogance. Maybe not. It doesn't matter now. It went down in the Howling Fortress, Valk Strida. They had sent decoys, faked movements, and used harassment tactics to slow us down. Worked all too well. When we finally reached them, the shell of reality was almost tearing up already.”

She closed her eyes briefly and passed a hand in her blond hair.

“Scarmadilla… Chose the high road. Soldiers were blocking us, but they weren't cultists. They only had orders. She refused to attack them, tried to talk them down. Of course, that didn't work. Military is like that. They only broke down when the world itself crumbled behind them.”

“A rift opened?” 

“A huge one. Maybe comparable to the first, from Adrianne’s legend. Scarmadilla said she had never seen anything like it. It was chaos. Monsters poured from the rift, the soldiers’ ranks shattered like an old fence hit with a battering ram. We heard the screams from the camp, four miles from there.”

“You didn't go?”

A sorrowful shadow darkened Liv’s grey eyes. “We weren’t sure. We argued. Ultimately, we didn't try to join them until much later. The fight was over.”

“How… How was it?”

“Harrowing,” said Llianah’s voice.

They all turned towards her. She was gazing into the flames, hands clutching the handle of her sword so hard her knuckles had whitened. 

“They were all down. Lying in their own blood. The bodies were torn apart. All dead. I saw Vyvian first. Then Meredith. Tyene, Amy. And Cal…”

Her voice broke, tears running freely on her cheeks. She shoved away the comforting arm Liao offered her and walked away heedlessly.

They all kept quiet for a moment, the silence only disturbed by the cracks of the fire. Finally, Liv talked. 

“Her name was Calliope. She was the Northwind. Llianah… Loved her beyond words. They were so alive, together. Closer than sunrays. She would hear the horses on the road and run through the temple’s doors towards her every time she came back. Spend hours just lying down next to each other. Calliope always talked of her youth, of the waterfalls in the mountains, how she couldn't wait to take her there.”

She marked a pause to drink from her flask. 

“Llianah never finished grieving. Not fully. She couldn't.”

Hesitant, Kathleen raised her voice. 

“The battle. What happened then?” 

“Cultists were wiped out. Only a handful of imperial soldiers survived. What few of our sisters who were still breathing succumbed to their wounds in mere hours. Only Scarmadilla made it. It was anything but certain, given her injuries. The sheer force of will… She lived.”

“Is that why she's so hard?”

“She was never soft. But yes, it changed her. Loss hurt her where she was most vulnerable. If Llia and I hadn’t been there to give her purpose, she might have given up. She took refuge in the calling, in our mission, and I don’t think she sees anything beyond it.”

“What about you?” 

Liv put down her flask with a sigh. 

“I was new, two months in. It was easier, I barely knew any of them. I was pained. I mourned. But it doesn't compare. How could it.”

Kathleen looked into the flames, her chin resting on her hands. “When I arrived, you said it was hard on her. That she was cold for a reason.”

“Yes.”

“But Llianah wasn't like that. She was warm and welcoming from the start.”

“Scarmadilla trained almost all of them. She feels guilt, but it goes beyond that. Working with novices brings back memories she’d probably rather keep buried. In a new arrival, Llia sees someone to rebuild with. Scarmadilla sees another sister she might lose one day, first and foremost. She can't help it.”

Kathleen nodded slowly, understanding.

“And Hilda?” she asked. “You said no one else survived.”

“Hilda wasn’t part of the Temple back then. Her spark had remained unknown to us for years. She found us a months later, roughly at the same time Llianah was scouring Ocattol for Liao.”

“She arrived on her own?”

“We all have our reasons for answering the call. And Hilda’s spark, well… It can be hard to bear. She came to us seeking answers.”

“You mean she grew tired of running from her nightmares,” Liao retorted.

“Nightmares?” Kathleen asked.

Liv stood to pick up another log. “Like I said, her spark can be intrusive,” she said as she set it down carefully in the campfire.

Kathleen turned towards Liao. “What about you?” she asked. “What made you decide to join?”

The tiny girl let a smile pierce her somber expression. “Not everyone has a tragic past, Red. Maybe I just wanted to see the world.”

“Did you?” 

“Yes. But also…” She gave her a quick glance, a light of nostalgia in the back of her eyes. “I was a two-bit thief in the richest city in the world. It was the best playground a girl could ever ask for. And then, I met a silver-haired warrior with an ocean of sorrow in her big doe eyes, who told me I had been called for something greater, and I thought… Maybe I could follow that woman.”

Kathleen’s eyes wandered towards Liv. The muscular priestess was stirring up the campfire, ashes and embers flying all around her.

“I see what you mean,” she confessed.


	17. One Life

“You feel it? That little sting in your chest?”

They had left with dawn, earlier than most days, and had been pushing the horses at a faster pace than usual. Kathleen looked briefly at Liv, who was riding at her side, surprised by the accuracy of her question.

“Yes! You feel it too?”

“We all do. It’s your spark, reacting to the presence of the void.”

“The divine power that doubles as a compass,” Liao sneered. “Thank the Goddess no one is trying to put that in song.”

Nobody laughed at her joke. Every face expressed only concern. Kathleen glanced at Scarmadilla. She appeared even more severe than usual.

“We’re still too far. We shouldn’t feel it so strongly at this distance,” she noted.

“We’re too late?” Llianah asked.

Scarmadilla did not answer, instead she spurred on her mount and took off at full gallop, quickly followed by the other three. Kathleen’s horse departed with them, surprising her with the sudden acceleration. They dashed on the road at breakneck speed, the tingling sensation within Kathleen’s heart growing more pressing and more burning with each stride, heightened by the apprehension she felt rushing towards a danger still unknown to her.

The shape of a settlement appeared in the distance, right ahead of their course, next to a small lake. From the size of the buildings, Orvilliden appeared at least twice as big as Taggeherd and more densely populated.

They stormed into the village without slowing down. Kathleen barely registered the panicked cattle or the screams of surprise and alarm of the villagers running away to avoid their frantic charge until they suddenly stopped in front of a humble house. A dozen settlers were assembled there, most of them sitting on the ground, as if waiting for something. They jumped to their feet at the sight of the armed riders.

Scarmadilla jumped off her mount almost instantly. She signaled the priestesses to wait behind and marched towards the closed door. The man who was sitting on the porch moments ago, a well-built farmer with an impressive black beard and short hair, dressed in a simple linen shirt, went to block her path. Nostrils flared and grinding teeth, he was the very picture of hostility. As she dismounted with the others, Kathleen could not help but notice how similar the situation was to their arrival in Taggeherd the day before, yet dramatically different. What was then a polite questioning, if a little tense, had become an aggressive and imperative approach.

“Who are you? What do you want?” called the man in a strong voice.

Scarmadilla halted in front of him, glanced at the settlers who had assembled behind him, hesitated for a split second then raised a conciliant hand.

“A traveler arrived in your village earlier. He’s in this house, isn’t he?”

“He’s busy. What do you want with him?”

“He needs to stop what he’s doing right now. He’s about to bring a terrible disaster upon this place.”

A wave of surprise and consternation ran through the small crowd. The man took a step back and picked up a lumbering axe that was laid against the wall.

“You’re lying. He’s a healer. I’ve seen it.”

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” Scarmadilla pressed. “You don’t understand the forces at play and neither does he. I know you’re afraid but you have to believe me when I say the dangers far outweigh the benefits. You are mere minutes from a cataclysmic event. Let me through.”

The man blinked, then exhaled slowly and shook his head.

“My only child is in here,” he revealed. “He hit his head four days ago and hasn’t woken up since. This man says he can save him. You’re not getting in.”

Scarmadilla’s jaw clenched and she flinched slightly. She looked away for a second, then pulled out her blade. “Move,” she said softly.

A vein pulsed on the man’s neck as he raised his improvised weapon. “No.” Behind him, his friends tightened their ranks.

“Move!” the Praetor’s voice thundered, followed by a violent crack.

Terror ran through the villagers and they scattered like a flutter of sparrows. The father was left standing alone in front of his door, his face drained and legs shaking. With a choked scream, he swung his axe in an awkward attack. She avoided the hit effortlessly and flung a brutal right hook to his face, knocking him down to the ground.

Kathleen took two steps forward. “Wait, you can’t!” she called. She stopped herself immediately, shocked by her own audacity. The Praetor did not even look at her and kicked down the door.

Llianah passed by Kathleen at a hurried pace. She had affixed her shield to her left arm and held her sword in the opposite hand.

“The kid’s going to die!” Kathleen cried out again.

Llianah turned abruptly towards her, her eyes as hard as the steel of her weapons. “Kate, this entire village is going to die if we don’t stop him right this instant.”

Upon these words, a violent blast ripped through the house’s roof and sent splinters and debris hurling all around. Kathleen jumped back and shielded her face with her forearm.

“We  _ are  _ too late,” said Liv’s voice behind her.

They turned their sights to the source of the damage. Fifty feet above the ground, over the ravaged building, the scenery was split in two by a large fissure of nothing. A fracture in the air, as if the sky was nothing more than the painted surface of a porcelain vase broken by some clumsy hit. From beyond the severed edge of this breach, where they could discern only blackness as dark as a starless night, came a distorted, inhuman growl, soon followed by others bestial sounds. Behind the priestesses, the horses stomped on the ground, startled by the ghastly event.

An animal shape dropped out of the rift and fell awkwardly to the ground, then rose on its four limbs and glared at the group of women. It was unlike any creature walking the surface of the earth. As big as a small bear, its thick fur and elongated muzzle belonged to a canine, yet it stood low on its legs like a reptile, and under its four yellow eyes with slit-like pupils, a feral grin revealed a forked tongue and an implausible amount of fangs that could never have been part of a natural animal. Everything about it screamed of a disturbing, unreal, but ostensibly cruel predator.

The glowing feeling in Kathleen’s chest suddenly surged, and she felt her arms ignite before she could control herself. She took two steps back and swiftly tore the travelling cape off her shoulders. The creature turned its head to the source of light. Its multiple eyes blinked rapidly, like a lizard, and it abruptly bolted towards the girl, moving across the ground at bewildering speed.

Something zipped in the air besides Kathleen and hit the beast in the head. The monster squealed and fell on its back, then immediately rolled on to its legs, the handle of a throwing knife sticking out of one of his eye sockets. Kathleen looked briefly behind her and caught a glimpse of Liao’s jubilant smile. She took a deep breath, watched the fire recess from her hands, then grabbed her weapon off her back and removed the piece of cloth that protected the blade. Her heart was racing but she stood firmly on her feet.

Her eye caught a nimble move to her right. Scarmadilla had entered the battle, chain in hand, her blade hanging from the last link. She twirled her weapon twice above her shoulder, like a giant sling, and flung it towards the monster in one wide sweep. A flicker of white light ran from her arms, winding around the entire length of the steel chain to reach its extremity the second it hit her target. With a deafening thunder blast, a flash bright as the sun exploded at the point of impact. The voidling flew in the air as if it had been hit by a titanic hammer and tumbled on the ground, some twenty paces further.

Kathleen’s eyes opened wide in stupefaction. She looked back and forth from the monster to Scarmadilla until the Praetor’s voice called her back to reality. 

“Look out!”

She looked up just in time to watch three large feline-like creatures leap off the rift onto the destroyed rooftop, then away from view. Two more beasts dropped on the ground and started slowly surrounding the group. They bore the same general large dog-like appearance as the first one, but each of them had distinctive and disturbing unique traits, oversized hind legs with huge black claws for one, and an absurdly long neck and pointed horns for the other. A scream of horror was heard in the distance. The two creatures raised their warped heads and ran off towards the source of the sound. The first monster was slowly getting back up, awkwardly standing on only three limbs, its fur and skin harshly scorched from the sunburst blow. Scarmadilla grabbed the reins of her panicked horse in a firm hand.

“I’ll catch the runaways before they get too far”, she stated. “Focus on the rift, protect who you can. We can’t let a single one escape. Llianah, you’re in charge. Get a move on!”

She jumped on the saddle and took off abruptly.

“You heard her,” Llianah commanded. “Liv, get the shard. Kate, stay with me. Liao…” She turned towards the tiny girl. “Try to draw them away from the civilians. Be careful.”

Liao winked at her. “Never am!” she grinned, then vanished on the spot.

Liv gave a supportive tap on Kathleen’s shoulder, then raised her giant blade and ran to the ravaged house.

The redhead put her hand on the wide blade of her glaive and watched the metal ignite, engulfed in ferocious flames. A faint smile passed over her lips as she remembered the delighted expression on Liao's face the first time she had enkindled a weapon. She grabbed the shaft with both hands and observed her surroundings.

Llianah had walked past her and was advancing towards the wounded monster with slow and deliberate steps, shield at the ready, her blade barely raised. Her face was a stone mask of serenity and determination, her fawn eyes solely focused on her target. The voidling lunged at her immediately, its excessively large jaw wide open and aiming for her head. The swordmaiden leaped back nimbly, let the razor teeth clamp on thin air two inches from her face and swung her blade in a counterattack swift like the snap of a violin string. The blade slashed the beast’s face deeply and drew a gush of blood that splattered on the ground. Llianah pushed forward, taunting the monster into more violent attacks that all failed to reach her, sometimes by no more than a hair’s width, retaliating with surgical hits for each missed strike. The beast roared in frustrated anger and walked back slowly, blood dripping from the multiple cuts on its gnarled face. 

Kathleen chose this moment to dash to her partner’s side and land a violent hit on the beast’s flank. The flaming blade slashed right through the voidling’s thick skin and set its fur ablaze. The monster shrieked and turned its three remaining eyes towards her.

In a heartbeat, Llianah had rushed in and caught the opportunity. She lunged for the head, her body bent in an incredible arch, she slid under the thick neck and plunged her sword with both hands under the voidling’s jaw, with enough strength to pierce straight through its brain.

The beast dropped dead on the ground instantly, its glassy eyes still fixed on Kathleen’s face. She took a step back to catch her breath. Llianah stood up and pulled her blade from the monstrous corpse, then wiped the sweat off her forehead.

“Good move,” she praised. She glanced at the dead creature. The cut Kathleen had landed on its side was still ablaze, although the fire did not seem to be spreading from the wound. A sour smell of burned flesh arose in the air. “Would you look a that,” she observed. “It does keep burning.”

More screams were heard, closer this time, coming from behind them. Kathleen turned around, weapon raised again. Three settlers were running at them in a panicked cavalcade. Sheer horror was painted on their faces. Right above them, a window shattered violently as a grey creature leaped right through it. The beast, slander and nimble like a giant wildcat, landed deftly on the ground and started chasing after them without even slowing down. It caught up with a running man and knocked him down to the ground like a ragdoll. The villager let out a terrified scream that was brutally cut short by a sickening sound of crushed bones as the beast’s jaws squashed his neck. The two remaining villagers ran past the fighters and disappeared from view. 

The voidling raised its head towards the two women, its face split by a grotesque rictus, the dead farmer’s blood dripping from its white fangs and the fur of its chin. A frightening snarl escaped its deformed throat, almost like a sinister laugh. The beast abandoned its prey and dashed towards the fighters. Llianah took two steps forward to put herself in front of Kathleen, shield raised, sword at the ready. “Left!” she called a split second before the creature took a sharp turn to avoid her and turned its attack on Kathleen, who barely had time to dodge despite the warning. The beast continued its course away from them, turned around and started circling around the two women carefully.

“It’s fast!” Kathleen exclaimed as she repositioned herself behind her ally.

The beast went straight for Llianah, running headfirst against her. She flinched, acutely aware of Kathleen’s presence behind her. Instead of dodging, she pushed forward, shield up to meet the voidling attack. The monster hit her at full speed and threw its entire weight against the young fighter. The impact pushed her back several feet and and left her dazed, down on one knee, her arm sore from the violence of the hit.

In an absurdly powerful leap, the voidling jumped over her right onto Kathleen, knocking her to the ground. The girl pushed the haft of her weapon under the beast’s throat in a frantic attempt to keep it away. The jaws snapped two inches from her face. A drop of blood dribbled from the monster’s fangs and fell onto her cheek. She could smell the beast’s foul breath as she felt her arms faltering against the unnatural strength of the creature. She suddenly let go of her weapon and pushed against the voidling with her bare forearm engulfed in flames. The monster screamed in rage and backed off.

A brutal impact shoved the beast away from her. Kathleen caught a glimpse of Liv as she vaulted over her and swung her giant sword against the monster. The voidling leaped back to avoid the attack, only to see — too late — that that movement had brought it in range of Llianah, back on her feet and awaiting this exact opportunity. The swordmaiden imperceptibly lowered herself on one foot as she turned around and shot a devastating kick directly into the creature’s head. The blow shattered its jaw and sent it stumbling right before Liv, who savagely brought down her blade on the shrieking monster’s neck. Its inhuman howl turned into a raucous gurgling, its body shaken by a last spasm, and it finally fell down in the dirt.

Liv kicked down the corpse to free her weapon and helped Kathleen to her feet.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Me? I almost had my face eaten off by a otherworldly monster, why wouldn’t I be fine?” Kathleen exclaimed in a voice slightly more high-pitched than usual. She breathed out slowly. The fire on her shoulders vanished as she unwound. She wiped the blood off her cheek and the dust off her clothes, then took a look around her. “Is it…” She gestured vaguely at the two dead voidlings, the ravaged house, and the lifeless corpse of the settler. “... Always like this?”

“Only when we’re too late,” Liv sighed.

Llianah stepped over the corpse while massaging her sore shoulder. “Thanks for the assist.”

“I got lucky. It didn’t see me coming.”

“What about the shard?”

Liv laid her blade on the ground and pulled out of a pocket what appeared to be a simple lump of darkened quartz.

“Did that little thing really cause all of this?” Kathleen asked.

“It did,” Liv confirmed. She held the crystal firmly into her hands and closed her eyes. When she opened them, almost a full minute later, it had turned into a dull piece of metal. They looked at the rift over the destroyed house. The wound in the sky was closing up, like the broken surface of a frozen lake slowly reforming.

Down on the ground, the bearded villager who had been so hostile upon their arrival was coming back to his senses. He stroke his temple where Scarmadilla had hit him and stood up clumsily, bewildered by the damage around him.

“What happened? What…” He gasped. “Is my son…?”

They all looked at the wreckage of the house. A middle-aged blond man in travelling clothes was kneeling over the remains of the front door, holding a child in his arms. The boy rubbed his eyes and looked around him, confounded by the surrounding chaos.

Llianah threw at the father a sour glance heavy with blame. “I hope it was worth it,” she said.

As she looked away, another roar echoed from the other side of the village, followed by human screams. Llianah swore. “Liao is still there. It’s not over.” She stopped a few seconds to think. “I’ll go,” she decided. “Get these three somewhere safe and join us afterwards.”

She tightened the bond holding her hair and took off in a hurry. 

Liv turned towards the three civilians. “Do any of these houses have a cellar, or a vault?”

“The chapel,” answered the farmer, his hand pointing at the only one of the surrounding building that was built with stone.

“Go,” Liv commanded. “Hide down there, and don’t make a sound.”

She watched them run away, carefully closed the door behind them, then tapped on Kathleen’s shoulder. “Come on, love. Duty calls.”

Kathleen smiled faintly and followed. They passed through the settlement at a run. Not half an hour had passed since they rode in through the same way, yet the place was barely recognizable. Many of the buildings had been damaged, sometimes entire walls torn down, and the occasional fresh splatter of blood bore witness to the horrifying violence that had taken place. They stopped as they reached the corpse of a void creature, the handle of a single throwing knife protruding from its skull. Only a few paces further, the bodies of two villagers were lying in a pool of blood, proof that here, too, the battle had been a hard one.

Neither the creatures’ howls nor the settlers’ screams could be heard anymore. Kathleen trotted up the slope to get a better view, then stopped and scowled as she discovered the landscape. She rubbed her eyes, then looked again.

An ocean of white clouds had covered the surrounding hills and was rapidly progressing towards them.


	18. Rage and Fury

The unnatural fog rolled over the area and swallowed the entire battle scene. Kathleen took a few careful steps back. She could barely make out the tip of her own weapon, and her allies were nowhere to be seen. She clutched the shaft of her glaive a little harder.

“Stay on the lookout!” commanded Llianah’s voice in the distance, somewhere far away to her right.

A massive silhouette appeared to her left, not five feet away. She jumped back and raised her glaive defensively, only to lower it again as she recognised Liv. The tall woman silently raised a finger to her lips and went to stand in front of Kathleen, blade at the ready, eyes sharp and alert. They heard a horse’s gallop, then an indistinct clamor from the villagers, far behind them.

“It’s clearing up,” Liv whispered.

Indeed, the smoke had already began to lift. Kathleen squinted through the clouds. Someone was walking straight at them at a hasted pace.

“Here,” she pointed.

A woman stepped out of the fog. She dropped her traveler’s cape on the ground the moment she saw the two priestesses, revealing a rugged outfit ot steel and leather, complete with a long vest doubled with fur. She was holding an engraved sword in her right hand. Her long black hair was running free, dishevelled by what must have been a long road, however her face was a mask of absolute resolve. 

Liv’s guard dropped at the same time as her jaw at the sight of her. She gasped, eyes wide with shock.

“Wait, you’re—” she blurted out.

“No,” Thalia hissed.

The sorceress lunged at them and swung her weapon in a violent attack. Caught flat-footed, Liv barely reacted on instinct. The sword cut deeply into her arm instead of piercing her throat. She raised her blade just in time to guard awkwardly against the next two blows.

“On me!” she called.

She attempted to retreat. Thalia’s aggressive offense matched her moves step for step, pushing her back without a second of breathing. Kathleen rushed in to break her attack, the tip of her glaived aimed at Thalia’s head. The sorceress parried the thrust with her sword, following on her movement with a wide swing of her arm ending in a brutal punch that hit the girl straight in the jaw and sent her to the ground. Dazed, the taste of her own blood on her lips, she stood up just in time to see Liv shoving her aggressor away, then moving back. The wound on Liv’s arm was bleeding heavily, her entire arm was covered in red, dripping from her fingers. 

Liao materialised at their side. She gauged the situation in one glance, then threw a dagger at Thalia and disappeared again. The sorceress deflected the projectile and took a step back. In a wind burst, Liao reappeared in mid-air over Thalia’s head, a blade in her hand aimed at her foe’s neck. Her movement was harshly interrupted by an iron grip who seized her by the throat and slammed her into the ground. The violence of the impact expelled the air from her lungs and left her stunned. A sting of panic rushed to Liao’s head when she saw the shining sword plunging towards her eye. She raised her hands defensively, only to scream in pain when the blade pierced through her wrist and sank into the ground, leaving a long cut on the side of her face. A murderous light ran through Thalia’s eyes, and the hand crushing Liao’s neck turned glacial. With a gasp, Liao vanished again. Thalia’s fingers closed on nothing as a white light exploded within her fist, shattering the ground underneath in a freezing blast.

The sorceress winced in pain, then shook her head angrily and shot a glance at Kathleen. The girl was standing ten paces in front of her, in a defensive stance, lips shaking faintly, hands firmly clamped on her weapon. Flames flared up on her shoulders, illuminating the scene in a bright and warm light. Liv was standing on the other side, awkwardly holding her large sword with her one good arm in an uneven defensive stance. Liao had reappeared behind her and was lying down in the dirt, a hand gripping her crippled wrist.

Thalia did not hesitate for a second. Drawing from her anger the strength to ignore her agonizing arm, she put her hand on the ground and called on her magic a second time. A thousand droplets of water flew towards her, then assembled into sharpened ice crystals she ruthlessly shot at the two wounded priestesses.

Liv instantly dropped her blade and dived over Liao. The attack rained over her like a hail of knives, slashing through her clothes and cutting her flesh. She gritted her teeth, rolled to her side and painfully raised herself on one knee. Under her lacerated leather outfit, the white of her tunic was slowly turning crimson over her back, arms and legs.

Llianah ran into the scene at this instant. Her blade was still red with the blood of voidlings, a few strands of her silver hair had escaped from her tight ponytail and were flowing freely in the cold wind. She stopped dead in her tracks the second she discovered Thalia’s face.

Liv held up a bloodied hand. “Llia, she’s not—”

“I know exactly who she is,” Llianah cut with a trembling voice.

She was pale as a ghost, quivering like a leaf in the cold wind, entirely devoid of the prodigious calm and mastery she had displayed mere moments later.

Thalia rushed to the offensive. She unleashed a flurry of attacks against Llianah's brittle defense, who found herself pushed back, barely able to contain the onslaught. A particularly brutal swing knocked her sword away from her feeble grip. Thrown off-balance, she raised her shield. The sorceress’ blade slid right under her guard, cut into her thigh through the hardened leather of her armor, then moved up with startling speed and slashed the unarmed swordmaiden across the face. Blood flew in the air at the same time as Liao's horrified scream as Llianah fell to the ground silently.

The blade of Kathleen's glaive knocked Thalia's sword off its course as it was falling down for the final blow. A spark of rage in her eyes, Thalia again raised  an open hand towards Kathleen. A cold burst exploded between her fingers and rushed at the girl. The fire on Kathleen’s arms flared up fiercely against the freezing wave. It only lasted for a second. The flames were wiped out like a match in a snowstorm. A terrifyingly powerful cold grasped her and she screamed in agony, every inch of her skin caught in a searing pain. She fell on her knees, shaking, unable to draw breath. 

Thalia barely registered the sting of frostbite on her own forearm, already numb after the repeated magical blasts. She glared at the kneeling redhead, as if personally offended by the weakened effect the freezing spell had on her. 

A metallic object flew before Kathleen’s eyes in a sudden whir and a blinding light exploded between the fighters, followed by a powerful shockwave that sent them all to the ground.

“You stay away from them!” thundered Scarmadilla’s voice.

She dashed between Kathleen and Llianah and ran straight at the sorceress. Thalia rose to her feet almost instantly to meet her offensive. Her face crumbled the second she looked at the Praetor, her breath cut short, her eyes widened in terror. She remained frozen for a second until her overwhelming rage crushed the grasp of fear. She swiftly dodged the blade aimed at her chest and attacked once again, going for Scarmadilla’s face, who parried the blow and took a step back.

Behind them, on the ground, Kathleen choked while catching her breath. Still shivering, she forced her cold fingers to grab her weapon and stumbled onto her feet until she reached Llianah. The swordmaiden was lying on her side, barely breathing. The slash on her leg was trivial, the wound on her face much more alarming. It ran deeply from her chin to her forehead, only missing her left eye by half an inch, and it bled heavily. Kathleen ripped off a piece of her tunic and hesitantly placed it on the open wound, unsure of the course of action to follow. She never had to heal anything besides minor cuts and bruises.

“Give me that,” said a soft voice.

She looked behind her and discovered Liv and Liao. Liao’s jaw was clenched in pain and her hand was still clutched around her pierced wrist. Liv’s entire body was covered in dirt and blood, though she did not seem nearly as affected. She gently took the cloth from Kathleen’s hand, then leaned over Llianah and lightly lifted her head. Kathleen gasped when she saw the multiple lacerations on Liv’s back and limbs.

“Liv, you’re…”

“I’ll be alright,” she assured. “And so will she. It looks worse than it is.”

Kathleen exchanged a glance with Liao. The tiny girl did not seem convinced either. Llianah suddenly opened her eyes and gasped, then tried to sit up.

“Slow down,” Liv advised. “You’re wounded.”

Llianah carefully probed the harsh cut on her face with the tip of her fingers. A dismayed shadow passed over her face as she remembered the fight. “Where is—”

Liao pointed at the ongoing duel. The vision of the deadly fight crushed Llianah’s spirit more surely than any physical wound ever could. Her back slouched as if bent under a dreadful weight. Her chin began to shake and tears appeared in her eyes, turning more and more distressed with each clatter of the fighter’s weapons. She had brought a hand to her lips and was harshly biting into her own skin, and she did not seem to even realize it.

“Why?” she asked in a choked voice. “How is she here?”

The two swords clashed violently. Pushed back by the implacable strength of her opponent, Thalia threw all of her weight behind her blade in an attempt to regain ground. The Praetor held strong, then abruptly stepped back. Caught off-balance, Thalia fell for the trick and stumbled forward. A dazzling headbutt hit her straight in the face and split  the skin over her eyebrow open. Half blind, she swung her sword at random. Scarmadilla blocked the attack easily, knocked the blade off her hands and shot a ferocious kick in her sternum that threw the sorceress to the ground. Thalia promptly rolled to her knees, appeared lost for a second, then suddenly raised both hands against the Praetor and yelled her rage as she unleashed every drop of magic she could conjure.

Scarmadilla had already evaded. The spell blasted into the air, two feet away from its intended target. She twirled her weapon above her shoulder and flung it violently at Thalia. A white sparkle ran along the chain links and sunburst exploded on impact. Thalia was thrown off the ground and crashed down several feet further.

Gasping for breath, she tried to crawl, only to have her bruised arms give out under her weight and fall face first into the mud. In a final burst of pride, she managed to rise up just enough to look at her foe. She wiped the blood off her face and spat in the dirt.

“You bastard,” she hissed, her voice broken. “If you were so strong, why didn’t you fight that hard for them? For  _ her _ ?” She looked at her sword abandoned on the ground. Grief and frustration overwhelmed her, and tears began rolling down her cheeks. She harshly rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, then shot a venomous glare at Llianah. “You did not deserve her!” she bawled, imbuing her words with all the hatred she could summon.

Scarmadilla exhaled slowly, then walked to Thalia. She lowered herself on one knee to look her defeated opponent in the eye. When she spoke, her voice was soft and poised, yet firm as stone.

“In memory of Calliope, I will let you live,” she vowed. “Raise your hand against me or my sisters ever again and I will slay you where you stand.”

She coiled up the chain of her weapon, replaced it on her belt and walked to the other priestesses. She stopped in front of Llianah, offered her a hand and helped her to her feet.

“Let’s find that healer and leave,” she said. “There’s nothing left for us to do here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it!  
> Feel free to comment on your favorite moments, feedback is a writer's lifeblood <3  
> 


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